


an ethereal abyss

by cosmicwoosan



Series: the sun will rise [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anxiety, Crying, Depression, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Issues, Friends With Benefits, Heavy Angst, Homelessness, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Multi, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Sad Ending, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Substance Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, however you decide to interpret it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-11-08 15:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 111,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20837825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicwoosan/pseuds/cosmicwoosan
Summary: "Hyung, do you believe in Hell?""Yeah.""What do you think it's like?""What we're living right now."He turns around, the breeze sending his pink hair astray, hopelessly wishing that his friends' sorrows would drown in the river beneath him.-in which Wooyoung hates his thighs, San is cold a lot of the time, Mingi's best friend is a razor, Yunho is beaten and beautiful, Hongjoong works too hard, Seonghwa is afraid of living, Jongho is blissfully oblivious, and Yeosang just wants the pain to stop.





	1. rise

**Author's Note:**

> hello. athena here. for those of you who may know this fic from its other account, yes, i am the author of this fic. however, i ask that you be respectful and please do not disclose the name of the account this fic was originally posted under. as you can see, i made slight changes to the summary (mostly just a few words).
> 
> a few things:  
-this fic is mainly told from yeosang's pov.  
-the main relationships here are wooyoung/san, yunho/mingi, and seonghwa/hongjoong. yeosang is friends with all of them, but is closest to jongho.  
-since it's told from yeosang's pov, the "stories" of the other characters are told from his perspective and what he knows.  
-there may be plot holes because it's told from yeosang's pov.  
-everyone is 18+ except for jongho, who is 17. ages are korean age... at least i tried to keep it that way but tbh i'm from america so it confuses me a bit oof  
-that being said i have very limited knowledge of korea, so please forgive any inaccuracies especially when it comes to location/school/cultural references.
> 
> please pay attention to the tags for possible trigger warnings. i try to put trigger warnings in the notes before each chapter, but please pay attention to the tags for any trigger warnings in general

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for homelessness, slight panic attack, implied self harm, and very brief mentions of vomit

Yeosang likes to think about what life would be like if San hadn't been kicked out of his home.

(_It_ started with him).

Yeosang was confused for a while, trying to wrap his head around _why _San had been kicked out. He _knows _San, probably better than anyone else around him. San is a good guy, from what Yeosang knows about him. When San told him that his parents kicked him out, he never explained why. And Yeosang didn't ask.

That's how San wound up crashing at Wooyoung's place.

Wooyoung, apart from Yeosang, is probably the only other person who _knows _San. They practically grew up together, from middle to high school. Yeosang doesn't know _how _much Wooyoung knows about San. All he knows is that when they're together, they're inseparable. They're the same age, only a couple months apart, both in their last year of high school. Then again, so is Yeosang, though he's older than both of them. He sees them together often, but never hangs out with them as a trio. It's always either San and Yeosang or San and Wooyoung. In fact, Yeosang has never even hung out with Wooyoung before. It's weird.

Yeosang never sees San with anyone else. He wonders if maybe San has other friends outside of school. He would've let San stay with him, if his parents would let him. Which, knowing his parents, they probably wouldn't have. After all, they're under the impression that Yeosang only has one friend, who isn't San.

Yeosang doesn't hate his parents. He doesn't. He thinks his family is pretty typical: a hard-working, strict father who "wants the best for him," and a quick-witted, quick-tempered mother who "just wants him to be happy."

He tries not to interact with them that much, and they try not to interact with him. When they do, it's usually pestering him about schoolwork, asking him how his day went, etc. Yeosang's doing just fine in school, but his parents always find some way to tell him to "do better" even though his report card reads all A's.

He's grateful for them, though. They provide him with food and a roof over his head. They've given him a room to live in, a bed to sleep in, a place to come home to.

He just wishes he could say the same for San.

-

"Hyung."

The voice seems to echo in Yeosang's ears. He can't remember falling asleep.

"Hyung, wake up." There it is again.

His eyes open excruciatingly slow, crusted over with sleep, mucus, and possibly tears. He doesn't really know. He rubs at them and blinks, groaning as he sits up. The room he's in is dimly lit, and vaguely familiar. The sun is peeking through the curtains, producing a streak of gold across one of the loveseats in the room.

Oh. It's his living room.

How could he not recognize it?

"Hyung, come on. I wanna go to the park."

Yeosang stretches his arms above his head, his eyes finally responding to his whims, opening fully to see a gleamy-eyed Jongho staring at him. "What time is it?"

"Six."

"In the morning?"

Jongho nods excitedly. "Yeah. Come on, the sun's already rising!"

Yeosang tips his head back and groans once more, this time in frustration. "You and your fucking sunrises."

"There's going to come a day where I won't be able to see any more sunrises," Jongho says. "I want to watch every single one of them until then. You're lucky I don't bring you to all of them."

Yeosang scoffs, shaking his head. "I don't know how you do it, kid."

"I'm not a kid!" Jongho pouts, crossing his arms. "I'm, what, a year younger than you?"

"A kid," Yeosang reinforces. He stands, though his legs pop a bit and it feels like his feet have gone numb. Sure enough, the digital clock beneath the TV reads six o'clock sharp. It's as if Jongho had been waiting, maybe even calculating when to wake Yeosang up. He can feel Jongho's playful frown as he pushes past him to slip on a pair of sandals.

"Let's go then."

-

Jongho has some weird obsession with sunrises. He insists that they're important, that each one is different and special because each new day is different and special. Yeosang can't understand how he has such a viewpoint, considering that most days are spent in school and not really doing anything worthwhile. At least, for him.

He's pretty sure it's the same way for Jongho, especially since he's a year younger. There's no way someone younger than him could have a more exciting life, especially since they're both still in high school. Neither of them work, so any stories are usually from the events that transpire during the school day, which aren't that exciting to begin with. There's the occasional gossip on other students, but Yeosang doesn't care enough to pay attention.

Jongho usually has stories to tell. Sure, compared to Yeosang's school life, his is more "exciting." He certainly has more friends than him since he's in the athletic program, but other than that, there's nothing really exciting about high school life. It's mundane and repetitive in Yeosang's eyes, but apparently not in Jongho's.

Him and his fucking sunrises.

According to Jongho, he wakes up every morning just to see the sunrise. His favorite place to watch it is a park near his house, atop a grassy hill that offers a beautiful view of the sun spilling over the tops of the trees. He watches it until he has to go to school, which is why he likes weekends the best. Whenever he can, he'll drag Yeosang along, since none of his other friends from school want to watch the sunrises with him.

And honestly, Yeosang doesn't really want to either, but it's endearing, how Jongho finds sunrises to be so metaphorical and significant, so Yeosang indulges in his imagination. There's no harm in watching a sunrise, except for losing some sleep.

Sometimes, the view is worth it. Yeosang likes the more tame sunrises, where the sun's harsh gleam isn't enough to blind him. His favorite kind of sunrise usually happens during the fall, when the sky turns a gentle blue with a hint of pink, sometimes purple. On those days, it's like the sun doesn't even rise.

When they reach the top of the hill, Yeosang is relieved to see that it is indeed one of those sunrises.

"Ah, hyung! It's your favorite kind!" Jongho exclaims, grabbing Yeosang by the forearm and yanking him down to sit next to him. His fingers dig into Yeosang's skin through his jacket unintentionally hard. For someone who acts like a seven-year-old, Jongho has the strength of a professional weightlifter.

Yeosang wishes he were exaggerating.

"Yes." He chuckles lightly, crossing his legs. They can't stay here for long since it _is _a school day. He hasn't even changed out of his... _yesterday's _clothes, and he's sure his mother would be furious to know that Jongho had slept over without her permission. Luckily, his parents don't wake up until after he leaves for school, and his mother always leaves his uniform out each morning, cleaned and ironed the previous night.

Somehow, he's never been caught.

He's had Jongho sleep over countless times, on weekdays and on weekends. Sometimes he asks for permission, and his mother usually says yes. His mother knows that he and Jongho are practically best friends. She appreciates Jongho's manners and enthusiasm, although he can be annoying sometimes. But there are nights where Yeosang can't sleep, and he invites Jongho over to ramble on into the night until the sound of his senseless rants lulls him to sleep.

It's not always like that, though. Sometimes Yeosang just feels lonely. It's nice having a friend who lives so close, just a text and a walk away. Whenever there's an opportunity to have Jongho over, he seizes it. He's glad that his parents are out of the house often. It's easy to have Jongho over that way.

"Hyung," Jongho says, "how is San-hyung doing?"

In all honesty, Yeosang has no clue. He actually hasn't talked to San since the day after he'd been kicked out. He continues to see San at school, attached to Wooyoung at the hip. He doesn't bother texting him, since he probably needs some time to himself. Yeosang understands. Or, he tries to, at least.

"He's okay," is what he ends up saying.

"I see him at school. He looks so tired all the time," Jongho says with a sigh. It's sympathetic, Yeosang notes. Because Jongho is just brimming with sympathy, innocence that Yeosang wishes he still had. Jongho has no idea what San's life must be like (neither does Yeosang), and Jongho doesn't even _know _San, but still asks about him.

Yeosang thinks that Jongho has the purest heart he's ever known in someone. He hopes nothing ruins that for him.

"It's understandable," Yeosang says. "He's going through a tough time."

"He'll get through it, I know it," Jongho says with dreamlike confidence, something straight out of a children's movie, and it makes Yeosang's heart lurch.

If only it were that simple. Jongho doesn't even know that the reason San hasn't been doing well is because he'd been kicked out of his own home.

Yeosang never told him that, though. He wants Jongho to be able to watch the sunrise every morning without having to worry about life going wrong, so that he can continue to live with unconditional positivity and determination, for himself and for others. He wants Jongho to keep on glowing, bright and shining like the sunrises he loves to watch every morning.

Maybe that's why Jongho loves them so much. Perhaps he sees himself in the sun.

-

One hour into the school day and Yeosang already wants to shove himself in a locker and never come out.

He has to admit, though, he has it relatively easy. School comes naturally to him. He's passing all of his classes with flying colors and barely has to study because he just understands everything like it's already in his blood. It's just so _boring, _having to sit through classes that he gets so easily and learning about topics he can grasp within minutes. He's no genius, but he's far from stupid.

Then there's Jeong Yunho.

Yeosang doesn't know much about him besides he does athletics like Jongho and he's probably one of the stupidest people in the class. Stupid as in, barely passing. Every time the teacher hands back a test, Yeosang sneaks a peek over his shoulder at his score, and it's usually just above failing.

What he lacks in smarts, he makes up for in athletic ability.

He's a star for the school's cross country, swimming, and soccer team. Anything that has to do with aerobic exercise, he can do. He's tall and well-built. Not as strong as Jongho, but fast on his feet, which is something Jongho doesn't have.

Yeosang wonders if there's more to him, if there's a reason why he's flunking the simplest academic classes, or if there's some hidden genius beneath the atrocious test scores and beaten-up sneakers.

Jongho tells him stories about Yunho. Yunho is kind of an idol to him. He often says that he wishes he were as fast as Yunho, that he's jealous because he can't run or swim as fast as him. Yeosang counters with the fact that Jongho is undefeated in the wrestling league and that he could probably knock someone out with the flick of a finger. Jongho just laughs and says it doesn't matter. He still wishes he could be as fast as Jeong Yunho.

Yeosang has attended some of the sports games at their school, mainly because Jongho wanted him to. He's seen the way Yunho moves, and he has the reputation as the fastest student in the whole school, maybe even in the entire district. Watching him is like watching a wild animal in its habitat, doing what it does best.

He's quick on the field, just not quick in the classroom.

Yeosang has biology with him. He's never been partnered with him for a project, thank god, but Yeosang knows that could change quickly. He mentally prepares himself every day just in case that _does _happen, as he'd probably end up doing all the work. He's okay with it, though. He'll just lie and say on the participation evaluation that Yunho did a good job and contributed to the work. He has it all planned out.

After all, Yunho seems like a nice guy. He deserves a good grade, even if he might not work for it.

Yeosang doesn't get to sit with Jongho at lunch since he has a conflicting schedule. Normally he'd sit with San, but even then, it would only be sometimes. Now that San has a lot more on his plate than just his lunch, Yeosang doesn't want to intrude. So he sits alone.

The lunch tables are long. He sits at one of the very ends, and some students who can't find other places to sit end up sitting at the other end. Yeosang can feel their eyes on him, judging him for taking up an entire end of a lunch table, but it's not like he's _doing _anything. He's just sitting. People can sit wherever they want, and if it's next to him, then so be it. He doesn't care.

Damn high schoolers.

He doesn't see San or Wooyoung anywhere, which makes him worry a little. He eats quickly, wanting to see if they're out in the courtyard before the lunch period is up, silently hoping that they're not up to any trouble.

When he doesn't see them outside either, he feels a bullet of worry shoot through his stomach. He sees them every day, and that's never changed. He can't think of anywhere else they could be, if they are anywhere else. Did they skip school? Are both of them out sick?

_Are they still alive?_

Yeosang shudders and pushes the disturbing thought into the back of his mind. Instead, he thinks of Jongho's words, that San _will _get through whatever he's dealing with. Although he knows that that's not exactly how life works, he can't help but feel a little better. It's Jongho, after all.

-

The last two periods of Yeosang's day are biology and physical education. And today just so happens to be the day he gets partnered up with Jeong Yunho. A twist of fate, if Yeosang's ever known one.

Yunho slides onto the stool next to him and greets him with a warm smile. "Jeong Yunho."

"Kang Yeosang."

And that's that.

The project is simple. So simple that even Yunho should be able to do it without having to try too hard. But as he's reading over the guidelines, his brow is furrowed in what seems to be either concentration or frustration. Yeosang can't tell. The teacher gives the students a couple minutes to talk amongst themselves, to go over the guidelines and plan out an experiment, and this is Yeosang's chance to shine.

"I'll do everything, don't worry about it," he says.

Yunho doesn't look up from the sheet. His eyes continue to scan the paper as he bites back a frown. "No. Let me do something, for once." He says it with spiteful determination, almost intimidating, maybe even threatening.

Yeosang doesn't want to be an asshole. And Yunho sounds like he actually _wants_ to contribute. So he holds back a sigh and says, "Okay."

He lets Yunho read the guidelines in silence. He does the same, although he rereads the same words over and over again, already knowing what he's going to do. He plans for the entire project, however, since he doesn't know if Yunho will really end up doing something.

"I'm gonna be honest and say that I probably won't know what I'm doing, but if you help me and walk me through things, I _will _contribute," Yunho says.

Yeosang doesn't see a problem with that. As long as he tries. He nods, and Yunho smiles gratefully.

By the end of the class, Yeosang acquires Yunho's number and already has the experiment and report planned out in his head. All that's left is P.E. At least Yunho isn't in that class with him; otherwise, he'd be the one on the other end.

-

Yeosang can do P.E., he just hates it.

For partnered efforts, Yeosang usually teams up with Song Mingi, a tall, crooked-toothed boy with small eyes and an acne-ridden face, whose body stature resembles Yunho's, but is far from athletic. Yeosang knows that no one else wants to partner up with him in fear of looking foolish, but he doesn't think that's fair. He can see how hard Mingi tries. Some people just aren't meant to be athletes, and Mingi is one of those people. The teacher grades based on effort anyway, so people worrying about not getting a good grade because of being partnered with Mingi just makes no sense to Yeosang.

They're playing badminton indoors, which is something that both Yeosang and Mingi are actually decent at. Yeosang has the aim, Mingi has the height. They make a good duo.

At the end of class, when all the students are in the locker rooms to change, Mingi pulls Yeosang aside and says in a hushed voice, "Thank you, Yeosang-ssi."

Yeosang raises an eyebrow. "We're the same age. No need for the honorifics, or titles, even. Yeosang is fine."

"O-oh." Mingi seems to recoil into himself, his shoulders shrinking ever-so-slightly. "Sorry, um, Yeosang."

Honestly, Yeosang doesn't care about honorifics at all. He only lets Jongho call him 'hyung' because the younger insists that it's important. He's gotten so used to it at this point, but anyone else calling him 'hyung' or any other title that implies he holds some sort of authority just makes him feel uncomfortable.

"It's fine," Yeosang says.

"Okay." Mingi offers a tight-lipped smile. Yeosang rarely ever sees him smile with teeth, but when he does, he can see that his two front teeth are disproportionate and his gums pop out. It doesn't matter to Yeosang at all; it's just a mere observation. "But really, thank you. I know I'm not the most skilled student, so you being willing to be my partner really means a lot."

Yeosang nods. "I understand. And it's no problem, really."

He doesn't _truly _understand, but he tries to. No one goes out of his way to be his partner, but it's not like he cares all that much. He prefers to do most things by himself anyway. But he can tell how much it means to Mingi, to have someone who's there when no one wants to be. He can see the dejection Mingi feels whenever they don't get to pick partners and how the other students sneer at him when he's not looking. He avoids telling Mingi about what he sees. Mingi doesn't have to know. After all, what he doesn't know can't hurt him.

Yeosang saves water at home by showering at school sometimes. It's just a weird thing he likes. He'll shower at the end of P.E., hang out at the school library to do homework, and return home to spend the rest of the night finishing homework or listening to music. He tries not to shower at school often, just so that it doesn't become a routine.

But honestly, it's like everything has become a routine at this point.

Today is different. As he's showering, he hears a noise, something similar to a sniffle. Two showers over, the water turns on, which Yeosang thinks is strange. Whenever he showers at school, he's usually alone unless the sports team comes in, in which case he'll stand in the shower until everyone leaves. But he knows the sports teams don't have practice on Mondays, so whoever is showering two stalls over is definitely intruding on his downtime.

There's another sniffle. The person either has allergies, or is crying.

Yeosang considers speaking up to ask if everything is okay, but this person is probably a complete stranger, and Yeosang doesn't want to intrude on any stranger's personal problems. He's not in any place to help a stranger, especially if he knows nothing about them.

He hears the stranger choke on a sob, and that's when Yeosang realizes he's crying. He can tell the stranger is trying really hard to stay quiet. Perhaps he thinks that the sound of two showerheads running blocks out the sound of his cries, but he's very very wrong in that aspect. He sniffles more and more, his voice occasionally cracking through his silent sobs.

Yeosang waits until the stranger is done, which can't be more than five minutes. When the shower next to him ends, there's one more sniffle before the stranger exits the stall. He disappears further into the locker room, presumably to change, and Yeosang waits until he hears the locker room door close to end his own shower and emerge from the stall. He wraps a towel around his waist and does a quick scan throughout the room. Surely enough, there's no one left.

Out of pure curiosity, he opens the curtain to the stall the stranger had been in. There's no sign that the stranger had been in there besides the water droplets on the showerhead and water puddling at the tiles underneath his feet, but upon closer inspection, he can see a red tint to the water pooling near the drain.

He bends down to get a closer look. His first thought is that they should really unclog the drain, as the water is depleting at a painfully slow rate, and his second thought is that the reddish tint to the water is probably blood.

He's certain that Jongho's first thought would be that the stranger had been crying, as that fact is undeniable, and had wiped his nose to the point of it bleeding. His second thought would be that maybe he'd suffered an injury and was crying because of how much it hurt. But Yeosang knows how naïve Jongho's thought process is, and he knows that the most likely possibility is something that Jongho probably wouldn't even be able to fathom.

He sighs. Jongho's positivity has definitely rubbed off on him, but only in the sense that he can think of other possibilities to the worst situations. He knows very well that the stranger did not have a nose bleed. He knows very well that the stranger had an injury, but he wasn't crying because of how much it hurt.

No. Something else was hurting, and it certainly wasn't his injury.

-

When Yeosang returns home, he sees a text from Yunho.

_when do you want to get started on the project?_

Sighing, he drags his feet up the stairs to his bedroom, where he tosses his phone on the bed and collapses into his desk chair. Starting the project is not important to him at the moment. There are a lot more important things on his mind, like what happened to San and Wooyoung, how Jongho is doing, et cetera. Not completing a project with an air-headed partner that Yeosang could probably finish within one night by himself.

His phone goes off once more. He's ready to throw his phone back down if it's Yunho again, but he stands up immediately as he sees it's from San.

_are u home?_

Yeosang types at lightning speed.

_yeah, what happened to you today?_

_meet me at the bridge_

Yeosang swallows a dry lump in his throat, shoving his phone in the pocket of his school trousers. He's never moved so quickly in his life, not really caring if his parents scold him for going out without their permission. They're not home yet anyway. If he's back home within the next three hours, he should get off scot-free.

The bridge is a fifteen minute walk, but Yeosang doesn't mind. It actually hovers above a river that flows directly into the ocean, and it's a spot that San loves to go to when he's sad or just wants to think about things. Sometimes Yeosang would tag along with him, but he can't remember the last time he's gone to the bridge. He only really ever goes with San, and since San has been dealing with his own issues, he hasn't gone to the bridge at all, not even with Jongho. He's sure Jongho would love the spot, though.

What Yeosang likes about the bridge is that it oversees such a small part of the ocean. It's not even part of the highway. It's just _there, _and Yeosang finds it interesting, how a bridge is so small but sits above the biggest, most unexplored place on Earth. It connects two sections of land that might as well already be one. Though it's not a highway, it _is _a road that plenty of people travel through, but he's never seen anybody walk the bridge on foot besides daytime joggers.

Upon arriving at one end of the bridge, he can already see San's outline standing at the middle, a large backpack hanging from his shoulders. As he approaches, San remains still, gazing out at the clouds accumulating above the water. It looks like it might rain.

Even when Yeosang arrives at San's side, the younger stays unmoving. "San?"

Yeosang can see the way his shoulders rise and sink with each deep breath, as if he's trying to hold something back. The bridge is completely void of any vehicles, which surprises Yeosang. If San needs to scream, curse, or cry, now is his time to do it, Yeosang thinks.

But he doesn't. Instead, he says, "I'm scared."

Without thinking, Yeosang asks why. It's a dumb question, really. Yeosang knows the answer to it already, but it doesn't hurt to hear it come from the source.

"Wooyoung can't hide me forever," San says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box.

"San..."

Yeosang hates to watch San flick open a lighter and light the end of a cigarette. It's a nasty habit that San had developed not too long ago. Yeosang wonders if smoking was what caused his parents to kick him out of the house, but if that were the case, then Yeosang thinks it's a stupid reason.

"I know you hate it. Everyone does, except Wooyoung." San takes his first drag, exhaling the smoke into the dreary ocean air. The corner of his mouth turns upwards in a smirk. "He's the only one who understands why I do it."

"Why do you do it, then?" Yeosang asks, wanting to understand.

San sighs, flicking his cigarette, letting the ashes fall to the concrete. "It'll kill me faster."

There are so many things Yeosang could say. There are so many things Yeosang _wants _to say, but he has a feeling that nothing he says will ever get through to San, not when San is too lost in his own head that he can't realize that yes, smoking can shorten the lifespan by a lot, but it doesn't _have _to.

"It's a cliché thing to say, I know." San chuckles dryly. "But it's true. I don't have a home to go back to, no job, and I'm surprised the school hasn't kicked me out yet. Like, I'm pretty sure my parents are still paying for my schooling for some reason. They just can't stand to have me at the house anymore." He scoffs, shoving the cigarette back into his mouth and taking a long drag. Yeosang's lungs hurt just by watching it. "You're probably wondering what would happen if I went back. I'll tell you. When my father shoved me out the door, he pointed at me and said, 'And don't you come back, you worthless piece of shit, or I'll break all of your ribs and then some!'"

His jaw clenches. "And my mother... my mother just stood behind my father like a huge fucking coward. Didn't say a single word. She watched everything, just stood off to the side as her own son was shoved against the walls and threatened to have his ribs broken. What a fucking bitch."

The spiteful words drip out of his mouth like poison, so much that Yeosang can feel his own heart tremble. He's never heard San like this. To him, San had always been a source of mischievous energy, always wanting to go out and break the rules just for the thrills. It's like he had constant adrenaline pumping through his veins, but now it's as if the chemicals in the cigarettes and the harsh words in his brain are eating away at his resolve from the inside out.

And before Yeosang knows it, he's asking why his parents kicked him out. The question that he's been avoiding all this time because he shouldn't feel entitled to know the answer, but he's just so curious.

"I was wondering why you haven't asked me yet," San tells him. Yeosang only shrugs in response. "Well, I'll tell you. My dad told me that all I am is a waste of time and resources. That I probably won't end up doing anything worthwhile so I'd be better off just living the rest of my life out on the streets. We argued a lot, but the night he kicked me out was the worst. He got physical, shoved me up against the wall, slapped me across the face and told me to get my life together. I asked him, 'What the fuck is a broke high schooler supposed to do?' And he slapped me again, opened the front door and pushed me outside."

He pauses to breathe. His voice trembles with each word, getting angrier and angrier before he finally allows a tear to roll down his face as he says, "I don't know, Yeosang. I don't know why they kicked me out." He leans onto the railing of the bridge, resting his forearms against it. Yeosang glances down at the cigarette in his hand and sees that he's starting to squeeze it into his palm.

"San, stop that!" He lunges forward, surprised when San doesn't try to stop him, and forces San's hand open, causing him to drop the remains of the cigarette on the ground. There's a black stain of tar and ashes burned into his palm, his skin slowly turning a harsh red as the heat seeps into it. His fingers are the same way, black and red, bleeding lightly, and all San does is laugh. "San..." Yeosang opens up his hand carefully, assessing the damage. San doesn't even flinch.

"I'm exactly what my father said I was." His words are heavy, his voice bitter. His emotions are teetering between wanting to be angry but truly feeling sad. It shows on his face as well, red and tear-stained. He's doing a good job at masking his conflicting emotions. Yeosang can't tell what in the world he's actually feeling.

"Worthless, Yeosang. I'm worthless." San looks up at him and smiles, his mouth struggling to form one as tears continue to pour down his cheeks.

He doesn't make a sound.

"And all I'm doing is bringing Wooyoung down with me." At the mention of Wooyoung's name, the dam holding back San's emotions finally breaks, and he wails so loudly it echoes. "I'm living at his house when I can. Do you know how pathetic that is? His parents would probably kill the both of us if they knew he was hiding me in his room most days. That's why I actually _try _to live out on the streets, Yeosang. I _hate _what I'm doing to Wooyoung. But _god, _Yeosang, the nights are so fucking cold and all I have is what I'm wearing now, my school uniform, and a jacket that Wooyoung let me borrow."

His hands dig into the fabric of the brown leather jacket, and Yeosang is about to reach out to grab San's injured hand when he falls to his knees, letting the sobs course through his body. "Wooyoung skipped school today for_ me. _He did my laundry, let me take a shower, and just... he _stayed _with me, Yeosang."

Yeosang kneels as San's body falls against the bridge's barricade, leaning up against it. "I hate it. I hate myself, I hate that I'm making him do all of this shit for me."

"It's not your fault," Yeosang affirms. "And Wooyoung is a great friend. You're not _making _him do anything. He's doing all of this for you because he cares about you."

San lets out another cry. Yeosang leans forward and places his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. "Th-the thing is, I think I know that," San says, "but I can't bring myself to believe it."

Yeosang understands.

He feels as if knowing something and not believing it is a common thing among people. He's certain that he's dealt with that feeling at some point. He's sure that a lot of people have. But he's seeing it firsthand, in front of him in the form of Choi San, homeless, worthless, and broken.

Yeosang wonders how Jongho would react. He thinks back to when Jongho had asked him about San and how he simply said San was okay. It was a lie, fabricated to prevent Jongho from knowing the reality, that no one who is kicked out of their home can truly be "okay." He wants nothing more than for Jongho to remain innocent; he doesn't want him to know about how San crushed a cigarette beneath his fingers and laughed maniacally at the pain of the burn. How he smiled even though he cried, how he sobbed so loudly that his body shook and his face turned red.

Yeosang lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He can't seem to channel his inner Jongho persona. He can't come up with a positive possibility in this situation, nor can he really think of anything else to say that wouldn't send San into further turmoil. So he stays silent and rubs San's shoulder as he continues to cry, his face now buried in his arms.

And still, not a single car has passed them by.

-

San wanted to buy another pack of cigarettes, and Yeosang wasn't about to leave him alone. Though the sun was close to setting and his parents would be home soon, he wanted to make sure that San would be okay. He'd take the punishment from them if that meant keeping San safe.

They stride down the sidewalk of a dingy part of town where the nearest convenience store is located. "San, you're not even old enough to buy cigarettes," Yeosang points out.

"The guy at the counter doesn't give a shit," San tells him. "I think he's given up on life, too."

Yeosang doesn't press further. He's never been to this convenience store, since he has no need to and his parents go grocery shopping at more... upscale places. But he'll follow San wherever he needs to go, if that means watching over him and making sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

Besides buy cigarettes illegally, at least.

An electronic bell chimes as they enter. It's a typical convenience store, reeking of ramen and candy, brightly lit with narrow aisles of all sorts of snacks and toiletries and other household needs. There doesn't seem to be anybody else, which is a bit surprising to Yeosang. He glances up at the rounded mirror in the corner. Still nobody in sight.

"Back again?" a voice chirps from behind the counter.

"Yup." San approaches the counter with Yeosang following closely behind. "Need another pack."

The guy is short, maybe a little shorter than San, with fiery red hair and multiple ear piercings. His voice is nasally and high-pitched, and Yeosang is pretty sure he's wearing a little bit of makeup. Not that there's any problem with that.

He just looks... small.

"You were here, what, yesterday? Two days ago?" the boy says with a smirk, already retrieving a pack of cigarettes like he already knows what kind San wants.

He must come here more often than Yeosang thought.

San shrugs. "I've been stressed."

That's an understatement, Yeosang thinks.

The redheaded boy hums in understanding and slides the pack of cigarettes to him as San takes out his wallet. "Employee discount. Half off," he says.

"You sure?"

"Mhm." With a defeated sigh, San pays for the cigarettes at half price. "You look like you need them, if I'm being honest."

Yeosang wonders in what universe would that sentence ever be true.

"Thanks, Hongjoong." San laughs, grabbing the pack with his good hand and shoving it in his back pocket. "I owe you."

Redhead, now named Hongjoong, grins in a way that Yeosang can only describe as suggestive. "So how have you been, Joongie?"

As the two make conversation, Yeosang wanders off to where the first aid materials are, thinking that he should probably treat San's hand since he knows San won't. He skims the shelves before picking out two types of gauze, medical tape, and antibacterial ointment. He feels grateful that his parents supply him with enough money in case of emergencies or if he really needs something. The items feel heavy in his hands as he carries them back to the counter, knowing that San can't say the same.

San eyes him as soon as he reaches the counter. Hongjoong, on the other hand, rings out his items without hesitation, like he's running on some sort of motor, but then he says, "Treating your friend's injury, huh? You're nice." He must've noticed.

San scoffs and glares at Yeosang, who shrugs. "I didn't ask him to."

"And yet he's doing this for you," Hongjoong counters, pushing the necessary buttons on the register before pulling up the total. Yeosang hands him the money. "He's got a good heart. Or is just a decent person."

Yeosang likes to think it's both, although he's not sure how "good" his heart really is, or what that could really mean. But he does think he's a decent person. He knows it, and he believes it.

He wishes it were the same for San.

Still, San's expression softens at Hongjoong's remark. "Yeah."

His agreement makes Yeosang smile.

"You should keep people like that in your life, Sannie," Hongjoong says, handing the bag of items to Yeosang. "It's good to know that people care about you."

San glances down at his hands, both of them, the good and the injured. "Yeah," he says again, his voice quieter.

Yeosang knows what he's thinking. San knows Yeosang cares about him; he just doesn't believe it. Yeosang just wishes he knew how to make him believe it.

Hongjoong's eyes meet his, and that's when he notices that his eyes are _green. _Contacts, Yeosang realizes. This guy is wearing makeup and green contacts and several pieces of jewelry, yet is standing behind the counter of a convenience store.

Just who _is _this guy? According to San, he'd "given up on life," yet he looks like he could be an idol. Yeosang wonders if this Hongjoong person has some sort of secret life beside being a cashier at a convenience store in a sketchy neighborhood, and honestly, he's almost a hundred percent certain that he does.

On the way out, Hongjoong calls out, "Keep in touch Sannie dear!" San just laughs and shakes his head. Yeosang finds it peculiar, but ignores it.

They stop at a public restroom where Yeosang makes San wash his hands, much to his dismay. Yeosang is gentle with his touches, dabbing the ointment onto the burns with the gauze pads before rolling out the gauze wrap around his hand, sealing it with the tape. It ends up looking like a finger-less glove.

"Try not to move it too much," Yeosang instructs.

"Yes, Mother," San says sarcastically.

Normally, Yeosang would laugh. Normally, San would too. But it's not normal anymore, now that San barely views his mother as an actual mother.

"So how do you know Hongjoong?" Yeosang asks, and he realizes how stupid of a question it is as soon as he says it out loud.

"He's there pretty much every day," San answers anyway. "The first time I tried to buy cigarettes, he looked at my ID, looked back up at me, smiled, and gave them to me. I was honestly surprised, but I've come to learn that Hongjoong likes to help out the unfortunate by giving them what they want."

"What do you mean?"

"I think he could tell how miserable I was. He must share the same misery if he was willing to risk his job for me by selling me cigarettes. And I'm sure I'm not the only one he does it for."

He must really have nothing to lose, Yeosang thinks.

At one point during their walk back to wherever, San pulls out his phone and texts someone, presumably Wooyoung as he says, "Mind walking me back to Wooyoung's?" Of course Yeosang agrees, since he was never planning on leaving San alone in the first place. Now that his hand is protected and he has a place to stay for the night, Yeosang feels a lot more relieved. He hopes that Wooyoung will continue to take good care of him.

San leads the way, since Yeosang has no clue where Wooyoung lives. It's actually quite close, in a semi-familiar neighborhood close to Yeosang's place. The sun is nearly set by the time they arrive, the sky painted a dark gray-blue with the sun barely above the horizon. They stop in front of the driveway where San turns around and attempts to give Yeosang a reassuring smile.

"Will you be okay for the night?" Yeosang asks.

San nods firmly. "I'll see you at school tomorrow, yeah?"

Yeosang nods back. "I gotta get back. My parents are probably gonna—"

'Kill me' is what he's about to say but he stops himself, earning a sympathetic look from San. "Go home, then," he says, smiling warmly, and Yeosang wonders how much strength it took for him to do so.

With one final bow of the head, Yeosang heads in the direction of his house. He leaves the first aid supplies with San, telling him one more time to take good care of his hand. San just nods.

He's several steps in when he mentally slaps himself, turning around quickly, only to see that San is no longer standing where he left him.

Yeosang is tired. All he wants is to go to sleep and forget everything he saw today. He turns back around and strides home in silence, ignoring the itching feeling in his gut telling him that San isn't actually planning on staying at Wooyoung's.

After all, the lights hadn't been on.

-

When Yeosang is walking up his driveway, he pulls his phone out of his pockets to see a bombardment of text messages from his parents and Yunho. Bracing himself, he opens the front door to his house to see his parents at the dinner table, his father's nose buried in a newspaper and his mother's phone clutched in her palm.

"Yeosang! Where in the world have you been?" She stands up immediately, the chair screeching as she does. His father follows suit, setting the newspaper down on the table.

"I'm sorry," Yeosang says. "I'll take whatever punishment you give me."

His parents exchange a worried glance. "You didn't answer the question, son," his father says, his voice surprisingly calm. "Where were you? We were worried sick."

Yeosang can't bring himself to look at his parents. Suddenly he finds himself picturing his father as San's, an absolute lunatic, about to shove his own son out the front door. He can feel his shoulders shrink as he feels tears pricking at the sides of his eyes.

_Please don't hit me_, he thinks.

"My friend needed me," is what he says.

"You didn't respond to any of my texts! Was it Jongho? What were you two even doing that was so important you couldn't respond to my texts?" his mother exclaims.

At this point, Yeosang can't even tell if she's angry. The tears are threatening to spill over. It's as if her voice is louder than it actually is, and Yeosang doesn't want to think about what would happen if he cried in front of his parents, his father especially.

He doesn't want to think it'll be the same way, but San is a good person. Aside from the smoking, he has good intentions and an intelligent mind. Despite being a respectable human being, his parents still had the lack of a heart to kick him out for absolutely no good reason.

"I'm sorry," Yeosang says again. He tells himself over and over, don't cry no matter what, and he apologizes once more before bolting up the stairs. He expects his parents to yell after him, but he hears nothing of the sort as he hurries into the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

He wastes no time in stripping himself of his clothes, tossing them in a corner somewhere, and stepping into a cold shower. He scrubs at his skin until it stings red. The water stays clear underneath his feet, but he can hear the stranger crying, clear as day.

It just sounds a lot like himself.

He stays in the shower until his fingers are pruney and eyes swollen. When he exits the bathroom with a towel around his waist, he's surprised that his parents are nowhere to be seen. He can hear the TV playing downstairs. Sighing, he crosses the hallway into his bedroom, where he throws on a random pair of pajamas and finally collapses onto his bed. It sinks under his weight, cold but so soft, and he curls in on himself, holding his phone tightly in his hand. He finally checks the texts from Yunho.

_hey, you around?_

_i have a couple ideas for the project, but i wanna get your opinion_

_where do you wanna do this project? we could meet in the library or something_

_hello?_

Yeosang scoffs, typing a single response to multiple questions.

_sorry, was busy. talk tomorrow._

With that, he plugs his phone in and tosses it on the ground. He doesn't know if all of his homework is completed, but it doesn't matter too much to him right now. All he can wonder is why, out of all the days he's been in high school, did this one have to be different? A day where he witnessed the remains of a stranger injuring himself in the locker room shower and a good friend fall to his knees in front of him out of sheer brokenness.

The thing is, Yeosang _knew _these things existed. He was just never prepared for it. He never thought it would happen to him or anyone around him, but maybe life is just cruel like that.

He knew it. Maybe he just refused to believe it.

-

Yeosang expects life to return to its routine when he wakes up. He's glad that Jongho isn't there to wake him up before the sunrise and drag him to the park to watch it. He prepares for the day ahead of him like it's any other, hoping that he sees San and Wooyoung this time around.

His parents aren't awake, but his school uniform is ironed and ready, hung over the railing of the stairs. He can't help but feel a sharp pang of guilt.

Living near the school has its perks. He _could _take the bus if he wanted to, but there are more stops after him that take longer to get to, and there's no point in sitting twenty minutes in a bus when he can walk ten to get to school. Plus, since Jongho lives about a block down from him, they often walk to school together.

Today isn't any different in that aspect.

"Good morning, hyung!" Jongho calls out from the end of his driveway. Yeosang doesn't stop walking, but he greets Jongho silently with a nod. "Everything okay?"

_No, not really. _"Yeah, just had a long night," Yeosang replies lowly.

Partnered with Jongho's naivety is his inability to pick up on social cues. "Oh, lots of homework?"

Yeosang chuckles internally. "Yeah. I got partnered with Jeong Yunho for a project, actually."

"Oh my god, really?" Jongho shouts, adding a hop to his step. "You're so lucky, hyung! Yunho-hyung is so cool!"

"He's not really that smart, though," Yeosang says. "He might be a good athlete, but he's definitely not the brightest."

"Oh." It's as if Jongho didn't know that. Which... how does anyone _not _know that?

Yeosang pushes his thoughts aside as the two continue to walk down the sidewalk together. The morning is particularly cold as winter is fast approaching, so Yeosang has his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets for warmth. He wonders how cold it had been last night, since he was so quick to fall asleep, wrapped up in the safety and warmth of his blankets. With how cold this morning is, he imagines it had been near freezing while he was sleeping.

"How is San-hyung doing?" Jongho asks out of nowhere.

Yeosang shivers involuntarily, and it's not just because of the cold. _Lie, _he tells himself. _Let Jongho keep his innocence. Tell him San is okay. Tell him San doesn't smoke, he didn't crush a cigarette with his bare hand, and he definitely didn't sleep out on the street last night in the freezing cold._

"Better." The word makes his tongue sting and his throat close. He can't keep track of how many lies he's told Jongho, and each one gets more and more difficult to tell. He keeps telling himself that he wants Jongho to remain the way he is, innocent, but deep down he knows that it can't always be that way. Perhaps it's his internal nihilistic dialogue that's telling him this. Perhaps he just wants different for Jongho. Different and better.

After all, what he doesn't know can't hurt him.

"He's still struggling, but he's opening up more." Another lie. "He can't sleep a lot of the time because he has insomnia, so that's why he looks tired. I mean, I feel like none of us get that much sleep to begin with."

_Lies lies lies._

Jongho nods in understanding. "Well, if you see him today, tell him I say hi and that I hope he feels better."

"Okay."

Yeosang already knows what he's going to do, and it's not that.

-

All of Yeosang's classes make him want to blow his brains out except for one. He's always been a nerd for history. He loves reading about ancient civilizations and the common human ancestors and all of the battles and wars that led them up to this moment. He likes to ponder the existence of humanity and the Earth itself and how, somewhere along the way, humans managed to fuck it all up for themselves and the planet they walk upon.

Huh. Maybe that's why he feels like such a downer sometimes.

The point is, he enjoys history. However, there's _one _thing he doesn't like about his history class, and that thing is a student called Park Seonghwa.

Yeosang doesn't know much about him except for the fact that he's filthy rich and extremely pretentious and annoying. It's like he always has something to say, whether that thing has to do with the class or not, and for some goddamn reason, everybody loves him. For his money? His looks? Both? Yeosang doesn't know, but it's probably both.

He's never had a full conversation with Seonghwa, nor does he have any desire to. He hopes that he won't have to be partnered with him like he had been with Yunho, but then again, life has kind of been biting him in the ass lately. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised.

However, today is different, and in a much different way.

When Yeosang enters the classroom, Seonghwa isn't sat on his desk with his back to the front while talking to other students. No, today he's sat facing forward with his textbook placed neatly on his desk, opened up to a page that Yeosang recognizes as last week's lesson. His head is down, made to look like he's reading, but anybody could see that he's sleeping.

He must have had a long night, Yeosang thinks.

Still, it's strange. Yeosang has never seen Seonghwa in such an unprofessional fashion for the whole month he's been in the class with him. He's always chatting and laughing with the other students, being all high and mighty, but class hasn't even started yet. There are plenty of opportunities for Seonghwa to turn it around and revert to being his pompous self, making unnecessary comments and telling overly exaggerated stories and whatnot.

But halfway into the class, Seonghwa hasn't said a word, and for some reason, Yeosang starts to worry. There have been plenty of opportunities for discussion, but Seonghwa hasn't said anything, hasn't even raised his hand. The only time he does is during a silent self-study, to ask if he can use the bathroom. He's quick to get up from his seat, Yeosang notices. He watches as Seonghwa rushes out of the room, and notices that nobody else has looked up from their textbooks.

Reluctantly, he returns his focus to the chapter, even though he's read through the entire thing already, in under ten minutes.

Seonghwa returns to the classroom about ten minutes later. Yeosang knows this because he reads the chapter again.

He quickly glances up from his textbook, his head fixed in its place, and sees that Park Seonghwa's face is riddled with signs that he'd been crying. He keeps his head down as he slides back into his seat and reopens his textbook, probably, no, definitely hoping no one had seen him.

Yeosang doesn't know if anybody else saw him, but he can draw three conclusions.

1\. Seonghwa hadn't wanted anybody to see him.

2\. Yeosang had seen him.

3\. Seonghwa didn't get what he wanted.

-

Luckily, Yeosang _does _see San in the cafeteria during lunch, but he looks like he's crawled up from the depths of Hell and then some.

Though his uniform is neat and polished, his face says it all. Heavy bags encase his eyes and even from a few feet away, Yeosang can tell his lips are chapped and irritated. He approaches San carefully, who, for some reason, is not accompanied by Wooyoung.

He also notices that the bandages around his hand are gone, but he decides not to question it.

"Hey."

San glances up from his lunch. "Hey."

"How are you doing?" Yeosang sits on the bench next to him.

"Fine."

"No, you're not."

"Then why'd you ask?"

Yeosang bites his lip. "I'm sorry. Um... where's Wooyoung?"

"Bathroom," San answers. He's eating quickly, Yeosang notices. He's glad that San at least has the school food to eat, as he's not certain San can get food anywhere else outside of school.

Yeosang nods. Up close, San looks even worse. The color has begun to drain from his face, leaving him with a grayish face that only accentuates the bags under his eyes and the fine lines beginning to appear beside his nose. It's so noticeable, Yeosang thinks. People have to have noticed.

They just don't care. San is the guy who comes to school smelling like smoke. They don't care.

"You... didn't stay at Wooyoung's place last night, did you?"

San smirks. "You've always been sharp, Yeosangie."

"It wasn't that hard to figure out. You... kinda look like shit."

"I'm aware," San replies, but it's not hostile in any way. If anything, it's as if he says it in complete agreement. "Just... don't tell Wooyoung, okay?"

Yeosang raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I... told him I was staying at another friend's house. You, actually," San explains. "So if he asks you about it, just say that I stayed with you, okay? Can you do that for me?"

_No. I don't want to tell any more lies. _"Okay."

San smiles gratefully, his eyes shining despite the purple bags underneath them. "Thank you."

_"I actually _try _to live out on the streets, Yeosang. I _hate _what I'm doing to Wooyoung."_

"Where did you end up staying?" Yeosang asks.

"The park," San says. He doesn't elaborate on which park, but Yeosang only knows of one within the area.

The thought of him sleeping on a park bench makes Yeosang's back hurt. He wonders if San had watched the sunrise. "Did you sleep at all?"

"As good as one can sleep on a bench," San snorts, shoving another bite of food into his mouth.

Yeosang shuts up at that.

A few good minutes pass, and Wooyoung still hasn't returned to the table. By now, San has finished his lunch. There's a second tray next to him, presumably for Wooyoung, but it's untouched. Lunch period is over in fifteen minutes.

"What's taking Wooyoung so long?" Yeosang asks.

San shrugs. "Might be reapplying his makeup or something."

"What?"

"He hasn't been getting much sleep lately either, but he cares way more about it than I do, so he wears makeup to hide it," San says. "It's probably all because of me, anyway. So I just let him take his time."

Yeosang nods, glancing back down at his now food-less tray. "I can get yours for you," he says, motioning at San's tray. San nods, and Yeosang takes both of them to the drop-off station. When he turns back around, he sees San with his head down on the table.

Before he knows it, he's making a beeline for the bathroom. He does kind of have to go.

The bathroom has several stalls, which are usually unoccupied during lunch for some reason (Yeosang thinks it's because most students use the bathroom during class as an excuse to get out, which makes perfect sense to him). As soon as he steps in, however, the bathroom reeks of a sour scent that Yeosang hasn't had to smell in years.

It's vomit.

Yeosang doesn't mind the smell, but he certainly doesn't _like _it. The only stall that's occupied is the one at the farthest from the door, so Yeosang settles for the stall nearest. Now, he doesn't have to go number two, but his curiosity is getting the best of him yet again, as his mind wanders back to the previous day.

Another stranger, another stall.

Luckily for Yeosang, he doesn't hear any retching or gagging of any sort. A few seconds after he sits down, the stall opens, and the stranger carries on with washing his hands. He zips by Yeosang's stall, not giving Yeosang any time to identify him through the cracks. The smell of vomit has begun to dissipate, thank god, and Yeosang stands up from the toilet and relieves himself according to his original plan.

When he returns to the cafeteria, Wooyoung has reappeared at San's side in front of his untouched tray of food. "Oh, hey Wooyoung." Yeosang greets him with a smile, which the younger returns.

"Hi Yeosang! Haven't talked you in a while." Wooyoung smiles brightly, his eyes crinkling at the ends. Yeosang sits back down on San's other side.

"Yeah, it has been a while."

"How have you been? Anything new?"

Yeosang quickly glances at San, who's gaze is fixed on the table as he and Wooyoung talk over him. "Got partnered with Jeong Yunho for a project in biology."

That makes San snicker. He finally looks up, giving Yeosang a toothy grin. "Bad luck yesterday, eh?"

Yeosang nods. "A lot of... weird things have happened recently."

"Like what?" Wooyoung questions.

Yeosang hesitates, contemplating on whether he should tell them that he'd heard a stranger who was probably cutting himself and, more recently, saw that Park Seonghwa had been crying in the bathroom during class. Deciding that San and Wooyoung don't care enough to really do anything with that information, he tells them, but he excludes the part about the stranger cutting himself.

They don't need to know that, especially not San.

"Damn," San says in response. "_The _Park Seonghwa, crying in the bathroom? Something really bad must've happened."

"I was thinking that," Wooyoung agrees. "Maybe it was Seonghwa who was crying yesterday, too."

Yeosang hadn't thought of that. If that's the case...

"Do you know why Seonghwa might've been crying?" Yeosang asks, not really expecting an answer.

San shrugs, but Wooyoung leans in and whispers, "I don't really know anything for sure, but I've heard rumors about him getting into drugs."

"Really? Like what?" San perks up.

"I don't know. Weed, probably, maybe even worse," Wooyoung answers vaguely. "That's just what I've heard, though. It's probably not true. I mean, if he was smoking weed and people knew about it, he'd be outcasted in a second."

San's posture goes rigid. "Shit, I'm—"

"It's fine." San cuts him off. He glances up at the clock. "We don't have that much time left for lunch. You should eat."

Wooyoung glances down at the tray in front of him, biting his lip. "I'm... not that hungry."

"Wooyoung, you need to eat—"

"I'm _not hungry._"

Wooyoung's sudden harsh tone takes Yeosang aback. He's never heard Wooyoung like this. Granted, he never really talks to Wooyoung, but when he does, he's usually chirpy with a high-pitched voice going on about how good of friends he and San are and whatnot.

"Suit yourself," San says, sounding defeated. He stands up and takes Wooyoung's tray with him. Wooyoung watches as San makes his way to the drop-off station, guilt in his eyes. Yeosang notices that he's still biting his lip, perhaps a nervous habit of his, and he can see the makeup now that he's closer to him. He's done a good job, honestly. From far away, nobody could tell the features he's hiding. Technically, Yeosang can't really tell either since the makeup is near perfect, but he can imagine.

When San returns to the table, he taps Wooyoung's shoulder and he stands up, almost on cue. "We're gonna go walk around. See you, Yeosang."

Yeosang smiles and nods as if sending the two off on their merry way, but it feels as if his heart has dropped into his stomach at the realization that he hadn't seen Wooyoung on his way to the bathroom.

Jongho would probably think that the smell of vomit was from someone who had been there before. If not, then Jongho would probably think the person in the stall hadn't been feeling well. Jongho would probably think that, if Wooyoung _was_ the one who threw up, he wasn't hungry because he'd just thrown up. And, if that were the case, then Wooyoung had thrown up because he wasn't feeling well.

Yeosang can understand all of those possibilities. In this case, all of them are plausible. He hopes, for San's sake, that at least one of them is the truth.

-

As soon as biology class begins, all of the pairs are quick to huddle together to plan out more of the project. Though Yeosang hasn't mapped anything out physically, he already has an amazing outline and experiment planned out in his mind. He wonders if Yunho has anything remotely close to an outline planned out.

"Hey," Yunho says as he sits down at the stool next to him. "I was starting to worry when you weren't replying to my texts. Thought you might've gotten into some trouble, or worse, didn't want to be partners with me anymore." He laughs nervously.

Yeosang tries to avoid rolling his eyes or making a snarky remark. Instead, he just says, "I was just busy with other things. Long day and all."

"I get that." Yunho reaches into his backpack and pulls out his notebook and textbook, both of which are in less-than-ideal condition. "So I was thinking..."

To Yeosang's surprise, Yunho actually has an outline drawn out in his notebook. When Yeosang looks it over, it's actually decent, and, combined with his, could make for an outstanding project. "I'm sorry if it's not that good—"

"No, no, we can actually work with it," Yeosang says quickly. "I didn't write mine out, but I have it all in my head and I can just add on to yours. Sound good?"

Yunho's face seems to brighten at that, his mouth extending into a smile and his eyes glittering with what Yeosang would call pride. He nods enthusiastically, maybe a little too much for Yeosang's taste. But it's nice to see joy instead of disappointment, which is something that Yeosang thinks Yunho must feel a lot.

At least, in the academic department.

In the amount of time they're given, they manage to finish the outline and plan out the experiment. Much of it is done on Yeosang's part and Yunho just nodding along, but Yeosang can tell that Yunho is really trying, and that, despite maybe not understanding all of the words coming out of Yeosang's mouth, Yunho is feeling somewhat accomplished. He actively listens to Yeosang's ideas, asks questions, and writes everything down in his notebook.

Yeosang can't help but feel a little happy for him.

The teacher gives them the entire period to work with their partners, mostly on planning. The experiments start tomorrow, she tells them. Yeosang and Yunho finish the outline and experiment plan with ten minutes to spare.

"So after we do the experiment, we have to do a paper and some kind of presentation on it, right?" Yunho asks.

"Right."

"Okay. I know we're not there yet, but if we need to work on it together sometime, we can do it at the library. I have practice after school on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so I'll be free the other days."

Yeosang nods. "Okay."

The rest of class is spent in awkward silence, with Yunho reading over the outline and Yeosang getting a head start on the reading from the textbook. When the bell sounds, everyone is quick to gather their things and stampede out of the classroom.

"Thank you a lot, Yeosang-ah," Yunho says gratefully, his eyes shining once more.

"Just Yeosang is fine."

Yunho gives him a confused head tilt. "Okay... Yeosang. Thank you, really. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Yeosang nods as Yunho exits the classroom along with the rest of the students. He's about to head out too, when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He spins around to see the teacher, a woman in her mid-thirties, smiling at him.

"You're doing really great, Yeosang," she tells him. "Yunho struggles a lot in this class. I could see you two really working together, and I appreciate your patience with him."

Yeosang shrugs. "I'm just doing what I have to do, I guess."

"And I'm sure he greatly appreciates what you're doing for him. I sincerely hope that you two get a good grade on this project. Knowing you, Yeosang, you will."

"Then Yunho would get a good grade too, right?"

"That's the hope," she tells him.

Yeosang doesn't understand why he wouldn't, but he nods anyway. With one more pat on the arm, she sends Yeosang off to his next class, being P.E.

At this point, Yeosang really hopes Yunho gets a good grade. He's not worried about himself at all. Still, it's strange to think that, even though the teacher saw how hard they'd been working, she still isn't confident in Yunho's ability to get a good grade on this assignment.

Yeosang sighs to himself as he enters the locker room. He wonders why people don't seem to have any faith anymore.

-

For P.E., they're assigned teams for a casual game of soccer, and Yeosang feels truly worried for Mingi. He can tell how anxious Mingi gets whenever partners or teams are assigned rather than freely chosen, and he's always worried that the kids in the class would snap at him in some way. Luckily, it hasn't happened so far, but the possibility always lingers in Yeosang's mind.

Yeosang ends up on the team opposite Mingi. He can see the disappointment in Mingi's face, along with the disappointment of the other students on Mingi's team. It makes him feel guilty, though he can't really do anything about it. All he can really do is play fairly and put in effort. That way, he'll get a good grade.

Mingi is clumsy on his feet. His long limbs do nothing to help him, unlike Yunho, as he stumbles and sometimes trips over his own two feet. Any attempt to kick the ball results in it traveling in a stray direction, allowing Yeosang's team to get ahold of it. Though there are students in the class who aren't well-versed in athletics, their inability doesn't even come close to Mingi's.

Even the students who aren't the best at P.E. look down on him, and Yeosang doesn't think it's fair. None of it is.

By the end of the class, everyone is sweaty. Though Yeosang knows the cross country team has a meet today, he really wants to stay after to take a shower. Perhaps he'll wait until the team is out of the locker room and _then _take one. Until then, he can just finish his homework in the library or something.

After P.E., when everyone is gathered in the locker room to change, Yeosang notices Mingi changing in one of the stalls rather than out in the open. He doesn't question it, since a few others do it as well. Still...

"God, why did Mingi have to be on my team today?" one boy, who Yeosang doesn't know the name of, whispers.

"Bad luck, man," another says. "Even Yeosangie here is better than him."

Yeosang turns to him. Now, he doesn't care about honorifics or titles at all, but the fact that this guy, whose name he doesn't know, has the audacity to call him that _and _talk shit about Mingi makes his blood boil.

"You guys are mean," Yeosang says, feigning a joking attitude.

"Hey, it's true," speaks _another, _and the three guys laugh with each other.

Airheads, Yeosang thinks as he rolls his eyes. His eyes fall back onto the stall with Mingi in it, and he can only hope that Mingi didn't hear the unkind words spoken about him, but the three boys hadn't even attempted to keep quiet. He's certain Mingi heard.

When Mingi emerges from the stall, he's fully dressed in casual clothes. He wipes at his nose and immediately exits the locker room, not giving Yeosang a chance to catch a glimpse of his face.

But Yeosang isn't stupid or naïve. He feels really bad, though. He's always told himself that what Mingi didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Maybe Yeosang is stupid and naïve. The thing is, Mingi probably knows, and it's probably hurting him.

-

Yeosang is starting to wonder if he really is curious, or just plain nosy.

He's made a conscious effort to wait until the cross country team has left the locker room for practice to take a shower. On one hand, he really does have to shower. On the other, he wants to see if the crying stranger from the day before comes back.

He takes his precious time, too. He stands there for a solid five minutes just to get his hair wet, which usually takes about two. He's about to reach for his shampoo when he hears the locker room door open. Footsteps. He tries to sneak a peek through the small gap in between the curtain and the stall, but the figure passes him by in a blur, and he's not so nosy that he'd actually pull back his curtain to see.

Shit, maybe he actually _is _quite nosy though.

He carries on with his shower at a normal pace, and sure enough, he hears the sniffles. The choked back sobs. The voice cracks. He considers bending down to see if the water is tinted pink under the stranger's feet, but he then realizes how fucked up that would be.

Curious, nosy, or sadistic? Yeosang doesn't even know anymore.

The thing is, the stranger is in there for a lot longer than he was before. Yeosang's fingers are starting to wrinkle, and though the stranger's cries have gotten quieter, he has a feeling that the stranger is waiting for _him _to leave this time.

Sighing quietly to himself, he turns the water off. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he exits his stall, leaving the stranger crying two ones over. He's changing when he notices that the crying has gone completely silent, and with one last glance, he can see there's definitely red in the water, this time, much more pronounced.

It makes him wince.

He swings his backpack over his shoulder. The stranger is still in the stall, still standing but still bleeding. Yeosang doesn't know if he's still crying. If he is, he's completely silent.

The thing is, Yeosang could probably peek at who it is through the crack. But the other thing is, Yeosang feels as if he's outstayed his welcome, that this isn't some show that he can sit back and watch. It's not supposed to be a way for Yeosang to quench is curiosity or butt in on drama that he has no business being a part of. This is an actual, living, breathing _person. _One who is obviously struggling to the point of harming himself.

Yeosang feels sick to his stomach, but he has no one else to blame but himself. Even though he knows that he can't make this his business, he also knows that the longer he stays silent, the longer the stranger will continue to suffer without knowing that someone out there has seen him, and that someone _cares._

Because yes, Yeosang does care.

He imagines it being San. San, who had crushed a cigarette between his fingers, leaving scorch marks on his hand. He imagines it being Yunho, broken over getting a bad grade for a project that he deserved an A on. He imagines it being Seonghwa, for whatever reason.

He imagines it being Jongho, completely devoid of innocence, believing that slicing into one's skin is the only way to achieve relief.

He fights back tears as his stomach twists into knots thinking about Jongho in such a state of mind.

"Things are gonna be okay," he says out loud.

He hopes the stranger heard him as he finally walks out of the locker room. He doesn't know why he said what he said, honestly. He could've said something a lot more profound, something a bit more meaningful, but he reminds himself that he doesn't _know _this stranger or his struggles. Though he knows he could've said more, he feels as if it would be pointless, that no amount of words he said could mean anything to a stranger.

Still, something is better than nothing, he thinks.

On his walk home, Yeosang thinks about San. He wonders what San is up to, if he's eating, if he's warm and comfortable. He wonders if San is actually going to stay with Wooyoung tonight instead of actively seeking a place other than a house to sleep. He wonders if San's hand is healing okay, if he's taking good care of it like he told him to. He wonders if San wants to be alive.

He thinks about Wooyoung. He wonders how Wooyoung truly feels about San's current state. He wonders if Wooyoung even thinks about how San feels, if Wooyoung is smart enough to draw the right conclusions about San's whereabouts. He wonders if Wooyoung was the one who'd thrown up in the bathroom earlier. He wonders why Wooyoung didn't want to eat.

He thinks about Seonghwa. He wonders why Seonghwa had been crying when he normally appears to have a perfect life. He wonders what sorts of things could go wrong for someone like Seonghwa. He wonders if the stranger in the bathroom had been Seonghwa.

He thinks about Hongjoong. He wonders what Hongjoong is like when he's not working behind the counter, if he's out doing bigger and better things. He wonders if Hongjoong has ambitions, rather than having "given up on life." He wonders, if that is the case, what caused Hongjoong to do that.

He thinks about Yunho. He wonders if Yunho had a good practice. He wonders if Yunho will go home and study his ass off for biology and whatever other classes he has. He wonders if Yunho will ever get the grade that he deserves. He wonders how Yunho feels whenever a barely passing grade shows up on his tests.

He thinks about Mingi. He wonders if Mingi truly knows about the nasty words that are said about him behind his back, if he does anything about it. He wonders if Mingi will ever do anything about it. He wonders if his life at home is okay, if his parents can see the things in him that others can't.

And he thinks about Jongho. Jongho, his best friend, who he hasn't seen since the morning. He wonders if Jongho had a good day today. He wonders if Jongho is still innocent in the way he's always known him to be. He wonders if Jongho knows about the cruel things that are happening all around him.

He wonders if Jongho would still like sunrises after learning about all the things he's seen.

When Yeosang gets home, the house is empty, but he feels much emptier. He just wishes he could stop thinking.

_"Things are gonna be okay."_

Yeosang throws his backpack on the ground as soon as he reaches his room. He'd already finished his homework in the time he'd been waiting for the cross country team to leave the locker room. He just lies there, his phone somewhere off to the side.

He closes his eyes.

_"Things are gonna be okay."_

The thing is, Yeosang doesn't know it, and he certainly doesn't believe it.


	2. shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun shines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for implied self harm and eating disorders, mentions of prostitution, and homelessness

Things return to normal. Yeosang just wishes they could've been for more than just two days, though.

He wakes up both mornings. His clothes are ironed and splayed out over the railing. He walks to school with Jongho. He sees that Seonghwa has gone back to sitting on his desk with his back turned away from the front, gossiping with other students. He sees San and Wooyoung at lunch. He doesn't talk to either of them. He and Yunho chip away at their project in biology. The experiment goes well over the two-day period, and now all they have to worry about is the paper and presentation, both of which Yeosang is sure he can ace. It's due the next week, and he is certain he can get it done by then. On Tuesday, he partners up with Mingi for another game of badminton. On Wednesday, however, teams are chosen, and Yeosang ends up on the team opposite Mingi once again. It's a game of basketball this time, and despite his height, Mingi still fails at making a single basket. Yeosang's team wins.

He doesn't shower after school on either day. Instead, he and Jongho walk home together, though they part their separate ways. Yeosang retreats back into his bedroom where he spends the rest of the night doing homework and listening to music. He doesn't text anybody. Nobody texts him.

He eats dinner with his family both nights. They sit in silence.

Yeosang's uniform is still ironed and ready on Thursday morning.

-

When Jongho catches up with Yeosang, he's panting. "Hyung! Why didn't you stop?"

Yeosang slows his pace, not registering what Jongho had said until a few seconds after. He faces his younger friend, who's now trotting alongside him, looking slightly betrayed. "Oh. Sorry," he mumbles, face masked by a thick scarf he'd gotten for his birthday a few years back.

"You've been acting different lately," Jongho says, finally catching his breath. "Is something wrong?"

Yeosang doesn't know how to answer that question, probably because it's just so vague. Technically, yes, there are a lot of things wrong at the moment. While Yeosang doesn't want to think about those things, they're still drilled into his head. He's been managing to avoid these "wrong" things for two days. He's avoided showering after school in fear that the self-harming stranger would discover his identity, or vice versa. He's avoided interacting with San and Wooyoung in any way in fear of finding out that San could very well be still staying out on the streets. However, Yeosang thinks he might be contradicting himself.

He knows that shoving these scenarios into the depths of his mind won't make them go away. It's still reality. That stranger is probably still cutting himself, and San is probably still trying to live on the streets so Wooyoung doesn't have to take care of him.

"Nothing's wrong. Just haven't been getting much sleep."

It's a half-lie. Yeosang has been getting sufficient sleep. Things are just very, very wrong.

Maybe it's a full lie.

"You might be working too hard, hyung. Do you have a lot of homework? I thought you get it all done early," Jongho continues.

Yeosang shrugs. "I do. Just... haven't been able to think straight lately. Probably because I haven't been sleeping well."

What Yeosang likes about Jongho is that he doesn't ask questions. He doesn't probe with endless questions until he gets an answer he's satisfied with. Yeosang attributes it to his overall naivety and the whole 'not being able to pick up on social cues' thing. Yeosang could look like death and Jongho would still believe him if he said he was okay.

"Well, I hope you catch up on your much-needed rest soon, hyung," Jongho says with a gummy smile.

Yeosang's mind takes that sentence into a dark place. He stays silent for the rest of the walk, and Jongho doesn't say another word.

-

In history class, Seonghwa is still his pretentious, snobby self, but Yeosang can't erase the image of his tear-stained face from his memory. When he sees Seonghwa talking and laughing with the other students, he can't help but wonder if they saw him too. He couldn't have been the only one.

Did people just not care?

Yet here he is, acting as if he hadn't left the classroom just to cry that day. He'd been gone for _ten minutes, _Yeosang remembers. And now, it's like it never happened. Maybe Yeosang is thinking too hard about it. Maybe Seonghwa was just having a bad day. Maybe his pet died or something. It's normal for people to have off-days. It's normal for people to cry.

It's just not normal for _Park Seonghwa _to cry.

He's not saying Seonghwa isn't a person. It's quite obvious that he is. But in all of Yeosang's days, even before Seonghwa was in his class, he'd never known Seonghwa to be anything but jubilant. Always charismatic with neverending energy and sweet, sweet arrogance. People fell in love with his charm. Of course, there are people who don't like Seonghwa, but he pays no mind to them. He thrives in the love of the students and faculty who look up to him despite his presumptuous stance.

Yeosang doesn't _not _like Seonghwa because he doesn't really _know _him. He just doesn't like how Seonghwa presents himself.

Halfway into the class, Seonghwa has contributed to the class discussion twice. Everything is normal, Yeosang thinks.

During self-study, he's nearly finished with the chapter when there's still half an hour left of class. He glances at the students to either side of him. Both of them are at different pages, neither of them are close to the end. Within the next minute, Yeosang finishes the chapter, notes and all. Not knowing what else to do, he starts the next one.

Head still, his eyes slowly travel to his left where Seonghwa sits two seats down from him. His arms are crossed on his desk as he reads the chapter, poised and confident even though he's literally just reading.

And that's when he notices Seonghwa's phone out.

It's placed in the space between his arms and the edge of the desk in an attempt to shield it from the teacher's view. Though Seonghwa _is _reading, his phone is right there with him. It's a huge risk, considering that having a just having phone out in sight can result in a pretty harsh punishment. From what Yeosang knows, Seonghwa has a flawless reputation, at least with the school.

He wonders what's so important.

His eyes flick between his textbook and Seonghwa. Sure enough, at one point, Yeosang can see Seonghwa's phone screen light up, unaccompanied by any sort of noise or vibration. Seonghwa's eyes glance around nervously as he keeps his head still and smoothly pushes his phone into his lap with his crossed arms. Yeosang glances up at the teacher, whose face is buried in the latest edition of the school newspaper, completely oblivious to Seonghwa's movements.

Seonghwa asks to use the bathroom.

Only one person is allowed out of the classroom at a time, so Yeosang can't get up and follow him. Not that he wants to. He's really trying to control his curiosity. Actually, he's come to the conclusion that his 'curiosity' has crossed the lines into nosiness. Yes, Yeosang is curious as to why Seonghwa is behaving so out of the ordinary, but the fact that he even has thoughts of finding out why just makes him plain nosy. He's trying really hard not to be.

This time, Yeosang isn't exactly sure how long Seonghwa is gone for. He estimates that it's more than ten minutes this time, and he finds it strange how the teacher doesn't seem to notice or care. When Yeosang glances up, Seonghwa catches him, but doesn't keep eye contact for more than a second before taking a seat back at his desk. Though it wasn't even a second, it was enough time to see that, while it doesn't look like Seonghwa had been crying, he certainly didn't look happy.

Then again, when is anyone ever happy?

Seonghwa had been gone longer than Yeosang thought. Not even a few minutes after Seonghwa had returned, the class ends. Students rush out of the room while Yeosang takes his time gathering his things, mainly so he can watch what Seonghwa does.

It's as if Seonghwa is purposefully avoiding his observance, keeping his head down and eyes averted. Even when he walks past, he doesn't spare a single glance.

Yeosang wonders how people don't notice these things. The teacher, even, who's supposed to keep tabs on his students. The other students, all of whom Seonghwa seems to get along with, hadn't even lifted their heads when Seonghwa left and returned. Was Yeosang seriously the only one who noticed these things?

More importantly, is Seonghwa really suffering in silence?

Yeosang can't help but wonder.

-

At lunch, he doesn't see San or Wooyoung in either the courtyard or cafeteria, and for some reason, he doesn't panic.

Perhaps it's because they're taking another day off like they had back on Monday. Yeosang hopes it doesn't become habitual, since skipping school is definitely frowned upon and quite detrimental to one's grades and academic status. For San, it might not matter, but Yeosang assumes that it matters a lot more for Wooyoung.

He's finished with his lunch twenty minutes before the lunch period ends, and he's about to get up to dispose of his tray when a familiar face sits down across from him.

"Hey."

It's Mingi, of all people.

"Hey," Yeosang responds.

"I'm sorry, if you were, uh, about to get up and leave," Mingi says awkwardly.

"It's fine."

Mingi doesn't have a tray in front of him, meaning either he's not eating or he's done eating. "Did you eat yet?" Yeosang asks.

Mingi nods. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you."

"It's fine."

It's strange, Yeosang thinks, how physically big but inwardly small he is. He ought to be afraid of Mingi because of his size, but to him, Mingi is nothing short of a coward. He doesn't mean it in an offensive sense. It's just how he thinks. It doesn't mean Mingi is a bad person or anything like that.

He's just... timid. Yeosang doesn't think there's anything wrong with that.

"I didn't know we had the same lunch period," Mingi says.

"Neither did I."

And Yeosang doesn't mean for his responses to be short and seemingly cold. Mingi just isn't making good conversation.

"Ha, yeah, I, um... usually sit in the classroom to eat."

Okay, that puts a dent in Yeosang's heart. He feels kind of bad now.

"I usually just get my lunch and go straight to my math teacher's room," Mingi tells him. "I don't really hang around long enough to know who has this lunch period. Not that I, um... never mind."

_Have any other friends to sit with?_

Yeosang wishes his brain would shut up sometimes because he's afraid that one day his mouth won't cooperate with it.

He doesn't dislike Mingi. Mingi is somewhat of a gentle giant in Yeosang's eyes. Though on the taller side, he wouldn't be able to hurt a fly. There's no way Mingi could ever get into a fight with someone and win, nor could he defend himself if someone were to initiate an altercation with him. He's too small, too scared.

"I'm usually here alone," Yeosang says, which isn't a lie. "Sometimes my friend San is here with his friend Wooyoung, but they haven't been around recently."

"Oh, I know San. He's in my math class, actually. And yeah, he's been really off lately, I've noticed."

'Off' is an understatement, Yeosang thinks.

"And, well, don't tell anybody this, but I think something's wrong with Wooyoung."

That makes Yeosang's ears perk up. "What do you mean?"

Mingi glances to his sides before leaning in. "He's very, I don't know, sensitive? Fidgety? I have home ec with him, and he looks really nervous when we talk about most things."

"What things?"

"Um... food. Health. That kinda stuff. I don't know, I don't want to jump to conclusions or anything, but I think something's going on with him."

Yeosang remembers home ec. He'd taken it the previous year. They'd covered topics ranging from home life to health to public safety. There were even some times they got to cook certain recipes for fun. Yeosang quite enjoyed it.

"It's just... I don't know, like I said, I don't want to jump to any conclusions. But with how uncomfortable he gets when we talk about, like, food and stuff, it just makes me worry that he might, y'know... I don't know." Mingi scratches at his head awkwardly.

Yeosang knows what Mingi means. He doesn't need to evaluate further. He simply nods, acknowledging Mingi's concerns. He certainly doesn't want to jump to any conclusions either, but when he thinks about the whole situation in the bathroom three days ago, he finds the concerns to be valid. There was no way of knowing if that person in the bathroom stall had been Wooyoung, but to Yeosang, it's the highest possibility.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to gossip or anything. I'm just concerned, I guess. Besides, it's not like I have anyone else to tell." Mingi adds a pitiful laugh.

Yeosang understands. For some reason it's a lot easier to make light of things that shouldn't really be made light of. It's as if certain situations lose their significance if it's discussed with a smile or a laugh attached to the end. It makes it less serious.

Except, it doesn't. It just makes it easier to talk about.

"I understand," Yeosang says.

So Mingi has classes with both San and Wooyoung. Yeosang is surprised that he didn't end up in any classes with them, but then again, all of his classes are advanced except for biology, and to Yeosang's knowledge, San and Wooyoung aren't really 'advanced.' He gets an idea, one that he _really _shouldn't act upon because it involves his weird curiosity versus nosiness ordeal, but like Mingi said, _he has no one else to tell._

"Mingi, could I ask a favor?"

Mingi's eyes seem to light up. "What is it?"

"I'm... concerned about San and Wooyoung as well. I don't have any classes with them, and I barely talk to them anymore. If you're willing, would you... keep an eye on them? And maybe tell me if you notice anything about them?"

Yeosang is digging himself a hole and he knows it. He'll just have to wait and see how far he can dig before the ground caves beneath him.

Mingi hesitates, frowning in either disappointment or contemplation. "I mean, I guess. Isn't that kind of a breach of privacy though?"

Yeosang bites his lip. He's already brought it up, and he might as well finish it. He's already begun to dig a shallow grave. There's no turning back now.

"I just don't know how they are outside of when I actually _do _see them, which isn't that often anymore. And I don't think they really care about interacting with me anymore, but I'm still worried about them. If you don't feel comfortable doing it, you don't have to, really."

There's another pause as Mingi presses his lips into a thin line. Finally, he sighs and says, "Okay. I'll let you know if I notice anything else. But just out of curiosity... why don't you just talk to them yourself? You're friends with San, right?"

Honestly, Yeosang doesn't even know anymore. He likes to think he is. He likes to think of himself as someone San can rely on, but nowadays it seems like Wooyoung is the only person he's close to because Wooyoung "understands." Yeosang admittedly doesn't, and probably never will unless his parents decide to kick him out too, but he can try.

He's pretty sure all humans can really do is try.

Yeosang can try to understand San's feelings. His heart ached for him when they were on the bridge, when he saw San crush a cigarette in his hand, when he watched San fall to his knees and cry out at the mention of Wooyoung's name. He can imagine the scenario at San's house in his head, but he will never know what the blows felt like, what the slaps and the pushes felt like, how the words attacked him like knives and left emotional scars and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He will never know, and therefore, can't understand.

Which makes Yeosang wonder just how Wooyoung understands.

He doesn't think on it further. He's pretty sure it would drive him insane if he does.

"We're not as close as we used to be," Yeosang answers after his brain shuts up, which might have been a solid ten seconds. "I still care about him, though."

Mingi nods, and Yeosang only hopes that he understands, or at least tries to.

"Do you maybe wanna, like, go for a walk?" Mingi asks after a couple more seconds of silence.

Yeosang doesn't see why not. His lunch periods are quite lonely most of the time. He could go for a change of scenery. "Sure."

After disposing of his tray, the two step out onto the school's courtyard with extra seating and a lovely view of the sports fields. Various plant life garnish the sides of the stone pathways, creating a colorful array of life in one of its purest forms. It's a beautiful courtyard, and Yeosang feels lucky that it's a part of his school. However, because it's so lush and beautiful, there are usually plenty of students who take up the extra seating at the picnic tables, so he avoids it at all costs. He knows San and Wooyoung like to spend their time during lunch here, though. They're just nowhere to be seen.

"Did you see San or Wooyoung today?" Yeosang asks Mingi out of curiosity.

"Nope. Neither showed up to class," Mingi tells him.

Yeosang nods. He hadn't been expecting a yes.

"So... I know I've been annoying about telling you how much I appreciate you being my partner in gym class, but I just, like, really hope you know that I really appreciate it."

Yeosang laughs internally at how repetitive that sentence is, but he appreciates it too. "You just seem like a really nice person, Yeosang. You don't care, but in the good way, you know what I mean? Like you don't care about appearances or status or anything like that. I mean, that's how it seems to me, anyway," Mingi continues.

Yeosang can't help the smile that appears on his face. "Thank you, Mingi. I hope you don't mind if I call you just by your first name."

"That's okay. Even the honorifics thing. I was surprised when you told me you don't care for them."

"I just don't see a need for it, honestly. I mean, at least with me. Obviously I'll use them if I'm talking to a stranger or an elder, but I don't really care about having a title, y'know? I just want to be Yeosang. That's it."

"I get that."

They walk side-by-side along the stone pathways, occasionally passing by other students until they stop by the opening to the soccer field, where a couple students are casually tossing around various sports balls. Yeosang doesn't recognize any of them by name, but some of the faces are familiar. Then he sees Yunho, smiling as he kicks around a soccer ball.

Yeosang glances at Mingi, whose eyes are on everything else but the students playing on the fields. They keep walking, circling around the courtyard and through the halls until lunch period ends, and they don't say a word to each other.

Yeosang feels a bit cruel.

They stop in front of the classroom of Yeosang's next period five minutes before lunch ends. "Sorry if I'm boring and all," Mingi says. "I might not have a lot to talk about, but it was nice not spending lunch in my math teacher's room."

"It's okay," Yeosang replies.

"I'll, um, see you later today, then. I hope we don't have teams today."

Yeosang pretends not to notice the dejection in Mingi's voice. "Yeah, see you later."

He feels a bit cold as Mingi is sent away with a tight-lipped smile. He doesn't even watch Mingi leave; he just stands in front of the classroom door for a solid minute, trying to understand Mingi's feelings and overall mannerisms, but Yeosang knows that if he really tried to delve into Mingi's mind, he might get depressed. He wonders if Mingi ever feels depressed, and then a ridiculous thought pops into his head.

_If I were him, I'd probably be depressed._

Yeosang doesn't know where the thought comes from. He winces, though he can't tell if it's internal or external or both. He has to remind himself that Mingi is a nice person, just painfully awkward and bad at anything athletic. It's just that knowing about the terrible things people say about Mingi makes Yeosang think that, if he were Mingi, he'd probably hate himself for no good reason, just like the kids in P.E. do.

It breaks Yeosang's heart. He hopes Mingi doesn't hate himself, and in order to hold onto that hope, he shoves the absurd thought far back into his mind, praying that it doesn't resurface for both his sake and Mingi's.

-

When Yunho sits next to Yeosang for biology, Yeosang is a bit taken aback. He hadn't seen it when he saw Yunho at lunch, but there's a deep purple bruise stamped on the side of his face, right next to his left eye.

Yeosang doesn't know how he missed it. It's a pretty sizable bruise, a blooming mixture of purple and blue and black. His actual eye seems to be in okay shape, but Yeosang wonders how in the world Yunho ended up with a bruise that vivid in color.

He doesn't ask. He's sure Yunho would appreciate it if he didn't.

Yunho still smiles at him as he takes his seat. He greets Yeosang with a bow of the head as the teacher begins her opening statement about the assignment and the homework, both of which Yeosang isn't concerned about. Yunho keeps his eyes glued to the front, and Yeosang tries his hardest not to stare at the bruise.

Their teacher tells the class that they can work on the project in the assigned pairs or the paper individually. "What do you wanna do?" Yeosang asks as the class divides.

"Um... I kinda wanna work on the paper, actually. I'm free after school today, so we can meet in the library and work on the project then. Sound okay?"

It's hard to look Yunho in the eye when there's a huge bruise next to it, but Yeosang knows that Yunho will notice if he doesn't look while he's talking to him. Yeosang focuses in on his irises instead, his big brown puppy-like eyes that scream "I'm the kind of guy parents love." They're really nice eyes, actually, but as much as Yeosang tries to pretend like the bruise isn't there, the mark screams much louder than the tenderness in his eyes.

Yeosang nods. "Great! Actually, if you don't mind, I'd also like for you to read over whatever I work on today in class when we meet later. I know you're a lot smarter than me so I'm sure you could help me revise it," Yunho adds with another gentle smile.

The corners of his eyes crinkle. The bruise moves with them.

"Yeah, of course," Yeosang says.

"Thank you so much, Yeosang-ah."

"Just Yeosang is fine," Yeosang mumbles, unsure if Yunho hears him. He's pretty sure he's told Yunho about his distaste for honorifics and titles, but maybe Yunho is just forgetful.

Yunho turns his attention to the notes they took during the experiment. Yeosang diverts his attention to his own, and even though he's sucked into concentrating on writing the paper, the image of the bruise on Yunho's face taunts him, sending pessimistic and borderline revolting thoughts throughout his brain in surges. Somehow, by the end of the period, he's managed to write four full pages in his notebook with Yunho's bruise at the forefront of his mind, and that's when he realizes that his academics have become secondary nature.

At the core of his brain lies everything he's seen in the people he's met, notably their emotions and pain, while the rest of his brain is composed of gray matter and the knack for academics (in the most general sense). He's not even sure if the makeshift paper he managed to pull out of the inner workings of his brain is any good, but he has a feeling it's decent and will be A+ material with some additions and revisions.

He looks over to Yunho's notebook. There's a solid page of writing, and honestly, Yeosang is proud of him.

He hopes Yunho is proud of himself, too.

Just as the teacher begins to announce the end of class, Yeosang flips his notebook closed before Yunho can see. He doesn't want Yunho to compare himself to him because Yeosang knows how dangerous that can be, and he firmly believes that no one can truly be happy if they spend the entirety of their lives comparing themselves to others.

He thinks of Mingi.

Yeosang doesn't see much of Yunho's face as he quietly packs up the rest of his things. The bell rings and students shuffle out of the classroom over the sound of the teacher shouting last minute reminders as usual.

"I'll see you later, then," Yeosang says to Yunho before he leaves.

"Yup."

There's another smile. Yeosang can't tell if it's forced or not. It's so warm and welcoming whenever Yunho smiles, and when he sees it, Yeosang can never tell if Yunho is genuinely content or if he's doing it on autopilot.

It's quite pressing, Yeosang thinks, because he could be suffering and nobody would be able to tell. He smiles even though a sign of struggle rests boldly on his face for everyone to see. He smiles even though he's barely passing his classes. He smiles far too much for his own good.

If tragedy strikes, Yeosang knows he would regret not asking about the bruise.

-

The P.E. teacher ends up being absent, meaning the class is welcome to do whatever the fuck they want because the substitute would be too overwhelmed with having to deal with sweaty teenagers. Most of the class splits up into their designated teams and partners. In Yeosang's case, that means Mingi.

They end up walking laps around the soccer field, as opposed to the majority of the class that spends their time actually _on _the field, running, kicking soccer balls around, doing whatever just as long as it involves physical activity. The substitute will give everyone A's anyway. Everyone knows that.

At some point, the class starts to run itself, because Yeosang notices that the substitute teacher has disappeared. He chuckles to himself before sitting down on the last row of bleachers, Mingi following suit.

"The teacher is gone," Yeosang says.

"If I were him, I would be too."

The sun is already low in the sky despite it being only late afternoon. A chilly breeze nips at Yeosang's exposed skin, making him wrap his arms around himself for warmth. The rest of the class is too occupied with their own activities to notice him and Mingi sitting down, but it's not like they would care anyway. He thinks it must be a good break for Mingi, not having to do anything that would make him a victim of snide remarks and judgmental stares, but Yeosang knows very well that this is only temporary.

Mingi is already a victim. It's only a temporary relief.

But a relief nonetheless.

What Yeosang doesn't expect is for Mingi to sniffle.

And cry.

Yeosang is terrified. He's scared to look at Mingi because he doesn't know what he'll see. He doesn't know if he'll see a part of Mingi that he wishes he'd never seen, or if he'll see Mingi for who he truly is, vulnerability upon cowardice, but Yeosang has to remind himself that crying doesn't make Mingi a coward. Vulnerable? Absolutely, especially with potential onlookers in the shape of their P.E. class. But crying does not make one a coward.

If there's one thing his parents taught him that he's grateful for, it's that crying is okay.

He remembers the day very clearly. Six years old at a park in his old town, he'd swung a little too high and jumped off, miscalculating his trajectory and landing on the woodchips with a hard thud. He'd scraped up his hands and knees and began to cry for his parents, who had been watching him from a little ways away. They came rushing to him, his father rubbing comforting circles into his back as his mother assessed the damage. She'd wiped the tears from his face, cradling his cheeks with the most tender touch as she kissed his forehead.

"It's okay, Yeosang," she'd said, pulling him into a tight hug as she petted his hair. "It's okay."

"You're okay, son," his father had added, continuing to rub and pat his back. "Here, why don't we get you some ice cream to cheer you up?"

It made Yeosang smile and stop crying faster, but if there's one thing Yeosang realized as he grew older, it's that neither of his parents _told_ him to stop. Yeosang had had his fair share of emotional moments growing up, most of which were done in the privacy of his own room, but it was never out of fear that his parents would see him. Maybe it was because Yeosang had become much more aware of society standards as a whole, that men aren't supposed to cry or show emotion, but deep down he knows that it's complete and utter bullshit.

Yes, his parents can be strict, cold, and distant at times, but they aren't cruel.

Not like San's.

"Yeosang," Mingi hiccups, "no matter what, don't look like you're trying to comfort me. Just... look ahead."

Yeosang obliges. He's still terrified, though, because as Mingi continues to sniffle with the occasional broken sob, he realizes just how familiar it sounds.

The terror transforms into dread. Panic. Absolute horror. Maybe Yeosang is hearing it wrong. Maybe it's different, not similar, and it's his head betraying him, telling him that it sounds like the stranger from the showers when it's just Mingi. It's just Mingi. It has to be Mingi.

_It has to be Mingi._

_It's not Mingi._

_It can't be Mingi._

"Mingi..."

"Just don't."

Yeosang has never heard Mingi sound so firm.

He's granting Mingi's wish by not looking at him, but he can picture it. He can picture tears just streaming down both of Mingi's cheeks, jaw clenched and lips trembling as he tries to contain the noises threatening to spill out, failing at times but trying nonetheless. He imagines Mingi is sitting up straight with his eyes set dead ahead of him, blinking quickly to get rid of the tears instead of wiping them away. He even thinks Mingi is sitting on his hands to restrict himself from wiping at his tears.

He listens to Mingi's rapid and uneven breathing. Concern bubbles up inside him; he wants to say something, anything, to let Mingi know that he doesn't have to sit in silence, but what the hell _can _he say? That he's heard Mingi crying before? That it was in the locker room shower? That he'd seen _blood _coming from that shower?

He doesn't understand, he _can't, _he doesn't know what to say, and it's killing him.

It must be killing Mingi, too.

"No."

The word exits Yeosang's mouth without any warning from his brain. He doesn't say anything further. He's not even sure how it sounded, but it must have been impactful because within seconds, Mingi breaks.

"You don't even know how it feels," he says, "to get a break from all this bullshit."

And Mingi is right, Yeosang doesn't know. He hasn't had to deal with it because he keeps to his average self. He keeps his composure, and while he might not be good at athletics, his aloof attitude doesn't make him an easy target. It's hard to extract a reaction from him. Mingi, on the other hand, is the complete opposite.

He's small. Too gentle. Reserved and introverted, but not in the same way as Yeosang is. Mingi shows his fear, gives the bullies the exact reaction they want, and that itself makes him an easy target for the repetitive torment, the nasty comments, most of which aren't even said in secret anymore. Though it might not be right to Mingi's face, they're not afraid to say these things when Mingi is around.

Yeosang can't help but wonder if it goes beyond P.E. If it does, then he can't even begin to imagine how Mingi really feels.

"Look at them. All blissful in their own element." The bitterness lingering in Mingi's voice is made up of days, weeks, maybe even months or years of rejection. Yeosang doesn't know for sure. It's so venomous that it makes his skin crawl. He's never heard Mingi so spiteful yet so melancholy at the same time, two dangerous emotions that make for a deadly concoction of thoughts and actions that Yeosang can't even begin to fathom, and the pessimistic section of his brain is telling him that the person in the shower is a prime example of that.

"You know what's shitty, Yeosang? I don't have an element. I'm a nobody. I'm not good at anything. Hell, you a—ah, you're pretty much my only friend at this school."

Yeosang knows what's shitty. What's shitty is that Mingi considers him a friend, but he doesn't consider Mingi one.

It's nothing against Mingi, really. He's already established that Mingi is a nice person, and if he gets to know him more, surely there's a possibility of him considering Mingi as a friend. But for the moment, the only person Yeosang considers a true friend is Jongho.

Mingi doesn't have to know that, though. He knows too much already and it's hurting him. Yeosang figures that one more thing won't matter.

Even so, the darkest part that remains lurking in Yeosang's uncertain mind is the identity of the stranger from the locker room shower, and the fact that it could probably most definitely be Mingi. It's so fucked up, everything is fucked up. Yeosang's head hasn't been this messed up in so long. He can't think straight. All the signs point to Mingi, yet every fiber of his being is blocking him from reaching that conclusion. He knows, he _knows _that he's trying so desperately hard not to believe it, so hard that he's trying to come up with every possible excuse and explanation, deliberately channeling his inner Jongho instead of doing it subconsciously.

_Maybe it's not Mingi. Maybe it's just someone else who sounds like Mingi. You didn't even see who it was! You only heard him. You only saw his legs; how can you tell a person by his legs? Don't worry, it's not Mingi._

"Yeosang, I... I really want things to be okay. I really do."

_There it is._

"And, I guess, maybe, for now, things are. Because they're doing their own thing and they can't see me fucking up at sports."

_Say something._

"But everything's going to go back to normal. I'm always going to be the laughing stock of this class. Tomorrow, even if we're partners again, they're still going to see me, and they're still going to be the vicious people that they are and always have been."

_Say something!_

"And if we're assigned teams, it's going to be even worse."

_Yeosang, open your fucking mouth! Say something!_

"I don't think things are gonna be okay."

Yeosang's head practically whips in Mingi's direction. "Mingi—"

"Don't."

The picture Yeosang had painted of Mingi is displayed right in front of him, down to every last detail except for Mingi's hands. Instead of sitting on his hands, his nails are digging into the skin right above his knees and just below his thighs, so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

He thinks of San.

"Mingi, stop that!"

Without thinking, he grabs both of Mingi's wrists and pulls his hands away from his thighs, and that's when Mingi collapses into him and _wails. _Yeosang wants nothing more than to hug him tight and tell him that things are going to be okay, but Mingi has already heard that from him, and Mingi doesn't believe it.

Yeosang doesn't believe it either.

When Mingi cries, he does so quietly so that he doesn't draw attention to himself. Yeosang keeps an eye out on the field, making sure that none of his classmates see. Though there's an ample distance between the bleachers and the field, people could definitely see the way Mingi is curled up into Yeosang's chest. Realizing this, Mingi doesn't stay that way for long, and he sits up and quickly swipes the tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Mingi says. The bitterness dissipates from his voice, and all that's left is sadness. "You weren't supposed to... you weren't supposed to see that."

Yeosang doesn't know what Mingi is referring to, but he doesn't _want _to know. What he does know is that he wishes to be blissfully unaware like Jongho, and maybe then he wouldn't be able to see the immense pain that's surrounding him and every person he seems to come in contact with. Maybe that's why Jongho is his friend. Maybe Jongho is his safe haven, his _break _from the pain and reality of life, lives that people his age shouldn't be living.

"I know," Yeosang says, and he really does.

-

Yeosang heads straight to the library after P.E. ends without a single word to Mingi. He feels bad, yes, but he can't just abandon Yunho, especially after Yunho asked for his help with the paper. Yeosang worries for Mingi's safety, hoping that Mingi goes home, eats, does his homework, does _anything _but stay after school, shower, and cut himself.

He's there before Yunho, unsurprisingly, but it only takes about five minutes for Yunho to arrive. Yeosang thinks he was expecting the bruise to somehow magically disappear, but he knows that that can't happen in nature. Maybe he had just been hoping instead.

Yunho greets him with another smile. It makes Yeosang sick to his stomach.

They get started immediately; Yeosang reads over Yunho's one page of a paper. As expected, it's not exactly A material, but it's not _bad._

"You need to expand on the topics at hand. You crammed everything we recorded during the experiment into one page. You need to actually explain the observations and add your own input as to why you think the outcome was what it was," Yeosang advises, handing the page back to Yunho.

Yunho nods but stares down at his paper in what Yeosang observes as disappointment. It's no surprise there, honestly, but Yeosang imagines that Yunho might be used to disappointment.

It's just that Yeosang is far from disappointed in Yunho; in fact, he's impressed that Yunho is working this hard and tries to keep an enthusiastic outlook on this project, wanting to contribute and actually receive a good grade, and it makes Yeosang wonder if Yunho has always been like this. Perhaps Yeosang read him wrong. Yunho isn't stupid. He struggles like everyone else does, but in his case it's in the field of academics.

"But other than that, I think this could be a good paper. You just have to work at it," Yeosang adds quickly, attempting to mirror the comforting smile Yunho has seemed to master.

Yunho doesn't look at him. Instead, he continues to frown down at his paper, biting his bottom lip slightly and sighing as he opens his notebook to a fresh page. "Well, I guess we should get started on the project, then."

Yeosang doesn't argue, nor does he try to comment on the paper any further. They work on the project together, though Yeosang must admit that much of it is accredited to him, but he can see how hard Yunho is trying under the circumstances. His intention hadn't been to make Yunho feel bad, but he can't help but feel like he did. The bruise next to his eye is still taunting him, but Yeosang is so invested in the project that he temporarily forgets that it exists.

As the sun descends further into the sky, the harsh light shines in through the unobstructed windows. Yeosang checks the time, it's nearing five in the evening, and he realizes he'd forgotten to text his parents. His phone is riddled with messages, most of which are from his mother and Jongho, but he sees one that catches his eye and makes his blood run cold.

"Do you need to get going?" Yunho asks as Yeosang skims over the text messages on his phone.

"Y-yeah."

_yeosang, i need to talk to you. it's urgent._

One hour ago.

"That's okay. I think you basically finished the project anyway. You'd probably just need one more day to finish and perfect it."

Yeosang turns and Yunho is smiling at him, warm and genuine as per usual, but Yeosang can't feel anything but guilt. "It's okay, Yeosang. You can finish it on your own. If I follow your advice and do the paper well, I can probably get a C on the whole thing."

No, Yeosang thinks, he can get an A, hell, he _deserves _an A, but his mind is racing and as much as he wants to tell Yunho that it's a team effort, that he doesn't have to go off on his own, he doesn't have the mental capacity to form coherent, meaningful words. He's exhausted from everything that he's seen and heard today. He wants to go to sleep, to shut his brain off for a few hours, but one of his friends needs him.

"We'll talk tomorrow, yeah?" Yeosang says, hoping he doesn't sound as panicked as he feels. "If you need anything else, you have my number."

Yunho nods wordlessly as Yeosang packs up the rest of his things, and he exits the library in stride, not even looking back.

He shoots an apologetic text to his mother, saying that he's working on a project with a classmate at the library, even though he's already left and is heading in the direction of the bridge.

_san i'm so sorry, i was working on a project for a class. where are you??_

Not even ten seconds later, there's a response.

_outside the convenience store. don't worry too much, things are okay. i just need to talk to you._

Yeosang doesn't believe it. After everything he's seen today, he knows deep in his gut that nothing is okay with anybody.

-

The part of town where the convenience store is located is intimidating, reeking of a mix between piss and cigarette smoke and who-knows-what-else, and Yeosang is surprised that he remembers where it is despite only having been there once. Perhaps it's because there's no way he can forget the events from three days prior, when he'd seen San at his most vulnerable and met the coyly mysterious cashier Hongjoong; he'd been distressed and intrigued at the same time. Yeosang thinks it a bit inappropriate, but there had been something about Hongjoong that drew him in, and if Yeosang had a reason to visit the convenience store within the past two days, he would have.

Well, now he has a reason.

San is sitting on a bench right outside the door to the store, head tilted back and eyes closed, his expression still troubled. At the sound of Yeosang's approaching footsteps, his eyes fly open, and he sits up. "I'm sorry, San, I was—"

"It's fine, Yeosang," San interrupts. "School is still important for you. Can't say the same about me."

That feels like a knife through the chest. Yeosang hesitantly sits down next to him, thinking about his next words, but San beats him to it. "Wooyoung skipped school again today so he could take care of me. He's suspicious of me."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been telling him that I've been staying at your house, but I think he's beginning to see through that." San chuckles humorlessly. "But no matter what, Yeosang, if he asks you about it, you need to tell him that I've been staying with you, okay?"

Yeosang immediately thinks of what Mingi had told him earlier that day, how he's pretty sure that Wooyoung has secrets of his own of equal or greater concern, but he isn't sure if San has the slightest idea of what Wooyoung does when he isn't looking. Yeosang imagines that Wooyoung wouldn't do such things when San is around, which is why he does it in the confines of a bathroom stall unaccompanied by San, but he wonders if Wooyoung still does those things when he takes the days off to cater to San.

He hopes not.

Even so, he nods in reluctant agreement. He's sure that Wooyoung will somehow find out eventually, so prolonging the ruse is ultimately useless, but in turn, he sees no harm in acceding to San's request. Would it hurt Wooyoung? Yes, Yeosang thinks so. But he's doing it because _San _wants him to. If he's upset, he can take it up with San.

"Anyway, wanna pay a visit to our dearest Hongjoong?" San asks.

Yeosang is a bit confused. From the text message, he assumed that San had a lot more to talk about, but now he's leisurely suggesting they go make conversation with Hongjoong? It's nearly six o'clock, and his parents are probably going to flip when he gets home.

Still...

"Sure."

The electronic bell goes off as soon as the door opens. Hongjoong is already leaning against the front counter, his chin resting on the palms of his hands as if he'd been awaiting their entrance. "Sannie, I saw you sitting out there for a solid hour! You could've at least said hi while you were waiting for your friend." Hongjoong's eyes meet Yeosang's, this time a deep ocean blue, and he smiles, similar to yet different from Yunho's. Though it's a warm, welcoming smile, there's mischievousness behind the pearly white teeth, perfectly straight and stainless. "Oh, I don't think I ever caught your name, darling."

"It's Yeosang."

Hongjoong's smile widens considerably as if he knows he's making Yeosang's cheeks heat up at the pet name. Never in Yeosang's life has he ever been called "darling" by a stranger, and he feels as if, in any other situation, he'd be offended. He doesn't know Hongjoong, not at all, but it just _suits _him, and he finds himself not caring if Hongjoong calls him whatever he wants.

"Ah, Yeosang. Pleasure." Hongjoong reaches his hand out for Yeosang to shake. It's soft. "Do you need another pack, Sannie?"

To Yeosang's surprise, San shakes his head. "Just lonely."

"But you've got Yeosangie here, no? And what about that other fellow I've seen you with, Wooyoung, was it?"

"I've already taken up enough of Wooyoung's time," San sighs.

"Oh, Sannie, you shouldn't feel that way. If Wooyoung was your friend he would sacrifice all the minutes in his life for you."

Yeosang can't help but agree.

San shrugs. "Anyway, how have you been, Joongie? How's the business been?"

Yeosang wonders how the two of them have grown to call each other by those nicknames, but he doesn't question them.

"Slow, but what else is new? Luckily I've got you and Yeosangie and Mars to keep me company."

San raises an eyebrow at the unfamiliar name. "Mars?"

"Oh, have I not told you about Mars? He's like you, he comes to visit me a lot. An absolute visual, that one. I think he's quite lonely, if I'm being honest, which is why he comes in so often. I'm actually surprised you two haven't crossed paths with how often both of you come in."

"What does he look like?" San asks.

"Hm, how do I describe him? He's a bit taller than me, got a strong jaw, black hair, slightly angled eyebrows... his hair swoops to the side in the most dreamy way, and his eyes, oh boy, his eyes. They're so intense, like they've seen some shit. He wears a hat most of the time, but one day he took it off, and I was blown away." Hongjoong fans himself, swooning over the description of this so-called 'Mars.'

Yeosang sends San a questioning glance, one that San doesn't reciprocate because he's too focused on Hongjoong's explanation, but Yeosang is pretty sure that his question is already answered.

Hongjoong is queer as fuck.

Yeosang doesn't have a problem with that. People can do whatever the hell they want, fuck whoever the hell they want, and who is Yeosang to say it's wrong? He's pretty sure something's going on between San and Wooyoung anyway, but he's never found it to be important. Even so, he's never met someone as bold as Hongjoong.

"Obviously his name isn't Mars," Hongjoong continues. "I'm sure he doesn't want people knowing he's dropping by a dingy convenience store just to see me."

"Just to see you?" San questions.

"Oh absolutely, he doesn't even buy anything half the time. One day he stopped by for a whole thirty minutes just to talk to me. I think he's quite lonely, if you ask me." Hongjoong sighs dramatically and pulls a lollipop out of his pocket, tearing off the wrapper and hastily sticking it in his mouth.

"How old is he?"

Hongjoong smirks around the lollipop in his mouth. "Oh Sannie, is someone jealous?" he teases, making San blush.

"No! I just don't want you to get involved with creepy old men, you know? You're too precious for that."

Yeosang sends San another questionable look, but now isn't the time.

"Oh sweet Sannie, that should be the least of your worries. And to answer your question, I believe he's about you and Yeosang's age. Just a little younger than me."

San finally looks over at Yeosang with an expression that matches his exactly: confused and a bit suspicious. There's an unspoken question between the two of them, that being _do we know this person?_

"Wait, Hongjoong, how old are you?"

"Twenty. Have I never told you that? My bad."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Don't worry Sannie, I'm legal, but you sure aren't."

San flushes even harder, and Yeosang feels his face heating up too, mostly out of embarrassment. Hongjoong licks around the cherry-red lollipop in his mouth before pulling it out with an exaggerated pop. "I think Mars going through a sexuality crisis or something. I must be his relief from everything since I'm probably the queerest person in this area. Clearly."

"How did you two even start talking?" San asks.

"He used to come in here a lot just to buy food and snacks and stuff. One time he bought a lighter. But every time he came in, I was working, and we just hit it off, I guess." Hongjoong shrugs and sticks the lollipop back in his mouth. "He's quite the mysterious one. I think that's how we get along so well."

Yeosang can totally see that.

"To be quite blunt and a bit morbid, I'm surprised I haven't been jumped. Or shot," Hongjoong says. "But if I'm not around to give people a good ti—conversation, who will be?"

Yeosang isn't sure if he wants to know what Hongjoong means by that, so he doesn't ask. "Here, Sannie, since I'm feeling nice today, you and Yeosangie can go and pick out anything you want and I'll give it to you for free. Nothing too expensive, though! Just, like, a cup ramen or something, okay?"

San grins widely, and Yeosang wonders how much San has been eating lately. He also wonders if Hongjoong _knows, _and that's why he's offering, but he assumes against it. They disappear farther into the store where the food items are kept and browse the shelves, San doing so more thoroughly, while Yeosang just settles on a chocolate bar.

"Hongjoong's quite the character," he comments.

San snorts but smiles. "Yeah, he is. He's very... flamboyant. I can see why he's surprised that he hasn't been attacked yet, honestly. Like yeah, he's a really nice person, but the country we live in still isn't the most liberal one out there, y'know?"

Yeosang glances around the store, his eyes eventually landing on one of the convex mirrors hung up in the corner that gives a condensed view of the rest of the store. There's nobody else but them, which Yeosang finds to be a bit peculiar, but maybe it's just a slow day.

The electronic bell rings. Yeosang watches a figured clad in all black come in through the door, a baseball cap perched on his head, a long coat that stops at his ankles, sunglasses to shield his eyes, and mask to cover the rest of him. He removes the sunglasses but keeps the mask on.

It must be Mars.

"Oh, if it isn't my favorite customer!" Yeosang hears Hongjoong squeal.

"Is there anyone else here?" Mars asks in a low voice, so low that Yeosang barely registers what he's saying.

"Just my second favorite customer and his friend. Harmless beings, both of them," Hongjoong replies cheerfully.

San and Yeosang exchange amused looks as San stands up, finally having selected a bowl, and they head over to the machine to heat it up as Hongjoong continues to talk to Mars. Yeosang, being the curious-nosy person he is, eavesdrops as they sit down.

He's accepted it at this point.

"How have you been, darling?" Hongjoong asks.

Mars sighs. "It's... complicated. I don't know."

"Aw, you know you can reach out to me whenever you need it, right?" Yeosang can hear the pout in Hongjoong's voice, but there's something else there, something that Yeosang can't put into words, but he can imagine the look on Hongjoong's face.

"I-I know," Mars replies, clearly flustered. "It's just... I miss you, you know?"

Mars says that last part in the quietest voice, so quiet that Yeosang is pretty sure San didn't hear it.

He hears Hongjoong sigh again, and the rest of their conversation is carried out in hushed tones that Yeosang sort of drowns out, focusing on San slurping down the cup ramen in front of him.

"They talk like they're in a relationship or something," Yeosang whispers.

"That'll never be the case," San whispers back. "I'm pretty sure Hongjoong is aromantic."

"What?"

"Aromantic. As in, he doesn't develop romantic feelings for people. I think he brought it up in one of our conversations. Besides, he seems like the kind of person to just fuck around with no strings attached, no offense to him or anything."

Yeosang can definitely see that.

"And like, don't bring this up to him, but..." San leans in, as does Yeosang, and he says in an even quieter voice than Mars's, "I think he's... an escort."

Yeosang's eyes widen as he sits back, his brain trying to process the new information. "An escort?" he mouths silently. San nods and motions his head in Hongjoong's direction with cautious eyes. Yeosang shuts up.

Yeosang leans in again. "Does Mars know?"

"Probably not. Look, I'm not even sure if he _is _one. I just think he is. There are a lot of signs that point to it, y'know? But I could be totally wrong, and I'm not about to ask him."

Just then, Yeosang hears footsteps approaching their direction. Mars takes slow steps through the aisle closest to them, head turned towards the shelves. Yeosang tries his best to keep his focus on San, greedily slurping away at his noodles, but he angles his head and keeps his eyes on the mysterious customer before...

Yeosang only sees him from the side, but he _knows _that side profile, because he sees it every day in history class. It's even the same view, to his left, close proximity, with Yeosang's head turned slightly but his gaze focused on none other than Park Seonghwa.

He panics and snaps his head so that it's straight ahead, completely focused on San, and he waits until Seonghwa's back is all he can see before releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Seonghwa turns the corner, seemingly oblivious.

Things start to seep into place. Though not concrete, a scenario is starting to form in Yeosang's mind, one where Hongjoong is the one Seonghwa has been texting in class, the one that made Seonghwa get up and leave the classroom, and the one who made Seonghwa cry. Yeosang doesn't know why he'd been crying or what Hongjoong could have possibly said that made Seonghwa so emotional, nor can he figure it out.

San must have been able to sense Yeosang's uneasiness as he asks, "What? What's wrong?"

Yeosang bites his lip, contemplating whether he should bring Mars's identity to the surface, but he thinks to himself, _does San really have anyone else to tell?_

He pulls out his phone, opens his notes, and types out Seonghwa's name.

San gawks at the screen in bewilderment, noodles ridiculously dangling from his mouth before he chomps down on them and whips his head around in the direction Seonghwa had gone, but he's disappeared to a different section of the store.

"Are you sure it's him?" San asks, still keeping his voice down. Yeosang nods confidently. "Shit."

"I'll see you later, Hongjoong."

Both San and Yeosang's heads turn at the sound of Seonghwa's voice, and now that Yeosang knows it's him, he can finally connect the voice to the face. He's surprised he didn't recognize it sooner.

"Leaving so soon?" Hongjoong coos in his usual flirtatious tone.

"Yeah, I've got some work to catch up on."

"Hm. Okay. Feel free to stop by or text me anytime, though. I'll be around if you need me, dear."

Without another word, the bell sounds again.

San quickly downs the rest of his ramen and approaches the counter in stride. "Hongjoong, was that Mars?"

The strawberry-haired man looks amused, taking the white stick of the lollipop out of his mouth, which has been reduced to a sphere that can't be more than two centimeters in diameter. "Isn't it obvious? Of course it was."

San looks at Yeosang nervously. "What? What is it? Oh my god, do you two know him?" Hongjoong asks.

Yeosang has never heard Hongjoong's tone in such an antsy way. He nods hesitantly, fearing Hongjoong's reaction for some reason, despite his seemingly harmless personality. He stares at Yeosang expectantly. "Well? What's his name? Can you tell me?"

"I... I don't think I should tell you," Yeosang says honestly.

Hongjoong's hardened expression seems to soften, though Yeosang can see the slightest amount of disappointment on his porcelain-skinned face. "It's okay. I mean, I should've known. He tries so hard to keep his face hidden, so it only makes sense that he wouldn't want his name spread around."

San looks at him sympathetically. "Sorry, Joongie. If he wants you to know, I'm sure he'll tell you. We're just in no place to say it."

"I understand."

It's probably the most genuine phrase Yeosang has ever heard from Hongjoong's mouth.

With one final thank you, San and Yeosang exit the convenience store, and the bell chimes one last time.

Yeosang knows his parents are going to scold him as soon as he gets home. The sun has almost set completely, the hour nearing seven, and the night sky is beginning to run its course. He's surprised to see that he hasn't received another text from his mother since his last reply, but he's gotten plenty of messages from Jongho, asking where he is. He figures he'll save it for later.

"Where are you going to stay tonight?" Yeosang asks. The two are slowly approaching his house, meaning that they would have to part ways soon.

San shrugs. "The park, most likely."

Yeosang glances down at his feet, smoothly strolling along the sidewalk. San has his hands buried deep in the pockets of the brown leather jacket Wooyoung lent him. Though bulky, Yeosang isn't sure how warm it actually is. He knows that all San has in his backpack are his school clothes, not a blanket, not any food. Yeosang has a fairly thick coat on and he's still cold.

He wonders how on earth San will survive the winter if he continues on like this.

"Who knows, I might go pay Hongjoong another visit. God knows I have nothing better to do."

It's heart-wrenching, seeing San like this. He wishes San would just stay with Wooyoung, because like he said, Wooyoung _understands_ him, comforts him, skips school for him. He's a true friend to San, not like Yeosang. Yeosang finds himself questioning what he really is to San, if he's a friend or simply a means of conversation and a scapegoat to avoid what he's afraid to tell Wooyoung. Yeosang has never seen such friendship and such betrayal in one relationship, but he knows that San isn't the only one keeping secrets.

_Say something._

There's a part of Yeosang that's telling him that maybe if he tells San about Wooyoung, he'll go stay with him. In that case, Wooyoung will have supervision, and San will have a roof over his head for the night. Yeosang just doesn't know the risk, doesn't know how Wooyoung's parents would react or how things would turn out. Hell, he doesn't even know if San would go stay with Wooyoung even if he divulges the information.

And Yeosang is pretty damn sure that Wooyoung would want him to keep his secret from San as well.

That's what he is. A bridge. A bridge with a huge wall in the middle, preventing San and Wooyoung from knowing the truth about each other despite them being closer with each other than with him. Maybe he doesn't know for certain about Wooyoung's situation, but he's pretty damn sure.

The worst part? He doesn't mind.

It's not that he doesn't _care. _He does. He absolutely does. But because he cares, he's willing to assist, he's willing to hold these secrets inside him because he isn't that close with either of them.

He isn't that close with either of them, yet it's still breaking his heart to see them like this. He wants nothing more than for them to just _talk, _to help each other, but Yeosang wonders how in the world two toxic people could help each other without one of them collapsing.

He doesn't want to think about it.

And on top of that, San drops a bomb on him.

"I'm gonna stop going to school. There's no point in it anymore," San admits. "It's not like my parents are going to notice or care. They'll eventually stop paying for my education and phone service, so I'll just toss it off the bridge one of these days."

"San—"

"It's okay, Yeosang."

Yeosang looks over at him, and he's smiling. His skin is a pale gray with the lack of the sun, but Yeosang imagines that it's also due to exhaustion, so tired from sleeping on benches and avoiding everything that could possibly remind him of the place he used to call home. His voice contains no hope whatsoever. It's all sadness, complete _despair. _The striking contrast between his words and the tone of his voice makes Yeosang's skin tic and sends his brain into overdrive.

"It's not, San, and you know it," Yeosang says.

Yes, San knows it, and with his whole heart, he believes it.

Yeosang can't help but feel like a hypocrite. Unwilling to tell Hongjoong Mars's real identity, when it shouldn't even matter, yet he's keeping secrets, dark, disturbing secrets from two best friends. Secrets that they _should _know, because it's important. It's so, _so _important.

He needs to say it. He needs to say something.

San smiles hopelessly at the sky as they continue walking. Yeosang remains silent.

"Wooyoung is better off without me dragging him down, Yeosang."

_That's not true. Wooyoung needs you._

"I just wish... I just wish I had a different life, you know? Why did I have to be born into this one? Why couldn't my parents have just used a fucking condom or something so I didn't have to be brought into this life? Why did they even _have _me if all they were going to do was throw me out? Just _why?_"

Yeosang doesn't say anything because he can't. Instead, he lets San shout into the empty night, surrounded by houses that could've been his, if, like he said, he had been born into a different life. Normally, Yeosang wouldn't agree with such a grim statement, but in this case, he does.

"Nothing's going to be okay, Yeosang. I just know it. But maybe... just maybe, I'm holding onto whatever sliver of hope I can because... because of Wooyoung. I love him, okay? I love him."

Yeosang would be lying if he said he was surprised.

"Look at me weird, judge me, do whatever you want, but he's done more for me than anyone else. He's treated me with nothing but love and compassion, and no matter what fucked up things go through my head, it's like... it's like he _understands _me. It's like he knows my pain, even though he's not going through it. I just... I don't want him to share it with me. He doesn't deserve that. Nobody does."

He's still smiling even as tears begin to roll down his face. It's a sight that Yeosang thinks he should probably get used to.

"I love him so much, Yeosang. I know you're not the kind of person to judge. You're kind, Yeosang. You're so kind to everyone. You just listen and take everything in and... you're just... too good."

If only San knew how wrong that statement is.

He's not. He's not good. He's holding everything in, when he could be saying something. He could come clean about San, about Wooyoung, about Mingi, Seonghwa, Yunho... he feels as if he's holding the secrets of everyone he knows, holding them deep within the pessimistic hole in his brain that tells him the worst possible outcomes if he _does _say something.

He knows that things may get better if he says something, but he also knows that things could get worse. He knows that things may get better if he stays silent, but he also knows things could get worse. No matter what, there's a chance of things improving, and there's a chance of things worsening.

Yeosang isn't sure what chance he wants to take. So instead of saying something, he leaves it up to the universe.

He doesn't want to play God, and that's what it feels like he's doing.

"I'm going to tell Wooyoung what I told you, but if he does ever ask you, please tell him I'm staying with you. Please."

San looks at him with desperate eyes, and he can only nod.

"Thank you."

Yeosang isn't sure if he's deserving of thanks. After all, he isn't as good as San paints him to be.

-

When Yeosang finally opens the front door to his house, it's dark and empty.

Confused, he flicks on the light in the kitchen, only to see a piece of pastel pink paper lying in the center of the table.

_Yeosang,_

_Your father and I went out to dinner. We figured you'd be out late, possibly hanging out with Jongho or working hard on that project you told me about. There's some food in the fridge if you need it. Text me when you get home, okay? -Mom_

The first thing Yeosang does after he reads the note is shower. The second thing he does is collapse on the bed and send a text to his mother.

_i'm home._

He doesn't eat.

Right after he hits send, his phone vibrates with a phone call from Jongho. He stares at the screen, Jongho's name displayed brightly in white text at the top with a green and red button at the bottom. He holds the power to open up a line of conversation at his thumbs, but he's done. He's done with having power in his hands. Instead of pressing the green or red button, he throws his phone to the ground, not caring how much damage is done.

And he cries.

He holds his hands tightly at his chest as his body shakes, tears streaming down his face like waterfalls and face hot with the rawest feeling of _emptiness, _the only word he can think of. He's nothing, just a chute where people toss away their secrets, knowing that they will never have to face them. Instead, Yeosang does; he faces them with a heavy heart and the cruelest version of reality, that _nothing is going to be okay, _not when there's so much pain, so much suffering surrounding good people.

Yeosang is not good.

He wonders what his parents would think, what they would say, but he knows that if he thinks too much on that subject, he won't be able to stay sane.

He just hopes, prays to whatever God exists, that Mingi isn't cutting himself, that Wooyoung isn't purging or starving himself, that Yunho isn't being beaten, that San is still alive, and that Jongho never has to experience the agony that Yeosang has felt for the past three days, for the rest of his life.


	3. appear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clouds appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of abuse, mentions of prostitution, mentions of self-harm, and mentions of eating disorders, and two panic attack scenes

Yeosang isn't at all surprised when Jongho runs up to him the next morning.

"Hyung! Hyung, you really need to slow down!" the younger calls after him.

"I'm just walking," Yeosang responds, and yes, he _is _just walking. He just doesn't wait for Jongho, which is why he has to run to catch up.

He can feel Jongho pouting at him. "I called you last night. Why didn't you answer?"

"I was asleep." A perfectly reasonable excuse.

Jongho sighs, his breath forming a small trail of vapor. It's getting colder. "I was worried, hyung. I didn't see you at all yesterday, and you didn't respond to any of my texts. Is everything okay?"

_No._

"Yeah, I was just busy with a project for biology and all this other homework I had," Yeosang says.

"Oh yeah! You're partners with Yunho-hyung right? How is he?" Jongho asks excitedly.

It's too early for this shit, Yeosang thinks.

"He's okay, actually. He's working hard and wants to contribute," Yeosang answers honestly.

"Oh, that's good! He's so cool. What about San-hyung? How's he doing?"

Yeosang is about to stop dead in his tracks, but he reminds himself that this is _Jongho _he's talking to; he can't show him the doubt, the pain and the suffering that he's witnessed from San. He can't tell him that San is dropping out, basically having given up. He can't tell San that he's sleeping out in below-freezing temperatures with just a jacket as a shelter.

"It's... complicated."

"Oh."

They continue to walk in silence.

Even the sun is starting to rise later, Yeosang notices. With how cold it's getting, Yeosang wonders how long it'll take for San to realize that maybe he _should _seek shelter indoors, where there's warmth. Maybe even try to find a homeless shelter or something. Or, maybe even better, go back to staying with Wooyoung. Yeosang isn't sure about that option though, since Wooyoung isn't in the best of states either, but after hearing San's confession last night, maybe it's a good option.

Or the worst one.

Yeosang needs to talk to Wooyoung. He hopes that he'll show up to school today since skipping two days in a row is really risky. Unless there's a doctor's notice, the school cracks down on students who are absent multiple days within a short amount of time, and it's extremely detrimental to one's grades and reputation among the faculty. Yeosang just hopes Wooyoung isn't doing anything too foolhardy for San, but at the same time, he worries that there's no other way for San to find relief from the hell that he's living.

They arrive to school early as usual with the dangerous thoughts still plaguing Yeosang's mind. He can feel Jongho's worried eyes boring into his skin, but he refuses to even look at the younger boy in fear that he might break down again. The guilt is eating away at him; he knows that Jongho cares deeply for him, and him not responding to Jongho's call must have really hurt. It's as if Jongho is expecting an answer, one that isn't just "I was asleep," because even though it's believable and Jongho is naïve, it's getting harder to hide his true emotions and mental exhaustion.

He wants the best for Jongho, and in order for that to happen, he needs to remain silent.

"Hyung, are you sure everything is okay?" Jongho asks one last time before they part ways.

_No. San could very well die on the streets someday. Mingi is cutting himself. I think Yunho is being beaten. I think Wooyoung is making himself vomit._

"Yes, I'm sure," Yeosang says with the most convincing smile he can muster.

His mouth is curved up in a smile, but he's sure his eyes look as dead as they can be. Jongho stares at him, doubtful, but just sighs and says, "Well, I hope you have a good day, hyung. Text me if you need anything, okay?"

Yeosang nods. "Okay."

With one last pained, hesitant smile, Jongho walks off in another direction, probably to meet up with his teammates, leaving Yeosang standing out in the cold. He gazes around, the sun now slightly higher in the sky, casting a harsh gleam from behind the school building. He squints and shields his eyes, glancing up at the national flag that stands tall and proud at the roof of the building, fluttering proudly in the frigid autumn breeze. He wonders how far San has traveled, if he's traveled at all.

Knowing that he won't be San anymore at school is bittersweet, but mostly bitter. At least San won't have an extra burden on his shoulders in the form of homework and assignments, but what else is he going to do? No education, no home, _nothing. _Yeosang can only hope that somehow, in some way, things turn around for him.

His skin itches, partially due to the breeze, but mostly due to the haunting premonition that there's no way things will ever get better for San.

-

When Yeosang enters the classroom for history, Seonghwa isn't there.

His first thought is that something happened with Hongjoong, but then he realizes that there must be more to Seonghwa's life than just the cherry-haired boy behind the counter of a shabby convenience store. There are plenty of possibilities. Maybe he's late. Maybe he's in the bathroom.

They're such Jongho thoughts, Yeosang realizes. Completely plausible, and hopelessly optimistic.

Yeosang has come to the conclusion that his brain has started to instantly come to the worst possible conclusions for anything out of the ordinary. He doesn't know exactly _what _most of the time, but everything in his body screams that there's tragedy at foot, that something is wrong if something is not normal, and Seonghwa not being present, sitting high and mighty on his desk with his back turned away from the front, is definitely _not _normal.

What if Seonghwa _knows _that Yeosang had seen and recognized him back at the convenience store? Surely that's no reason to just not show up to class. Is Seonghwa so ashamed that he can't bear to show his face because of it? Yeosang thinks it's quite ridiculous; after all, he has _no one to tell._

The last few students enter the classroom, and Seonghwa is among them. Yeosang almost feels relieved, but then he meets Seonghwa's eyes.

They're bitter and lifeless. Threatening, almost. Yeosang can't help but feel fear. He's never seen Seonghwa's eyes so vicious, so venomous that Yeosang feels like Seonghwa could reach over and strangle him to death if he continues to stare at him.

So he looks away. He hopes Seonghwa does too.

Needless to say, Seonghwa doesn't contribute to the class discussion. He doesn't even get up to go to the bathroom during self-study. Yeosang purposefully avoids looking at him, even from the side, in fear that he'll see Seonghwa's eyes shooting daggers into him. He's able to make it through the chapter before class ends, like usual, and that's when he realizes that everything is normal for him, just not for everyone else.

As soon as the class ends, Yeosang gathers his things as quickly as his arms allow, and exits the room without looking back. He doesn't know if Seonghwa is still looking at him as he rushes, but he's not about to look over his shoulder to find out.

Instead, he bursts through the door to the restroom where he takes deep breaths, trying to vanquish the image of Seonghwa's malicious eyes imprinted in his own. Luckily, there's no one else in the restroom to hear his panicked breathing, and he makes his way to one of the sinks to splash some cold water onto his face.

_Calm down._

Yeosang never thought a look could make him feel so anxious.

_Breathe._

A door opens.

_It's going to be okay._

No, it won't.

"Yeosang-ah."

Yeosang feels his heart shrivel. He doesn't want to look up. He lets the water droplets drip from his face. "Yeosang-ah. I need to talk to you."

He gulps down a lump in his dry throat. It's painful. He wants to vomit. He thinks of Wooyoung. He's glad Wooyoung isn't in the restroom this time around. His eyes inadvertently travel to the farthest stall as he remembers.

"Yeosang-ah!" There's a rough hand on his shoulder that spins him around, causing him to cry out in both fear and pain.

He swallows again. "Wh-what?"

Seonghwa is looking at him again, but his eyes aren't the same. They're not filled with vice anymore. Yeosang doesn't think it's _compassion, _necessarily. Maybe sympathy? An attempt to calm him down? Yeosang doesn't know, but he can still feel himself shaking.

"We need to talk," Seonghwa says firmly.

"What about?" Yeosang asks as Seonghwa releases the grip on his shoulder.

"I think you know what," Seonghwa answers, leaning up against the wall that protrudes outwards, separating the sinks from the door. "I know you saw me yesterday at the convenience store."

There's no use in hiding it, and Yeosang knows it. They hadn't locked eyes, but Yeosang's face was out in the open, a recognizable face with a name. And Seonghwa, though hidden behind a mask, was someone whose side profile is extremely familiar to Yeosang. Of _course _they would recognize each other.

"Yeah," Yeosang says cautiously.

Seonghwa stares at him expectantly, but what else can Yeosang say? He's not in any place to say anything. He doesn't even _know _Seonghwa, nor does he have any reason to go around telling people that one of the most popular guys in school is flirting with a frisky cashier from a dingy convenience store. He _could _go around telling people, but what kind of sadistic fuck would want that kind of attention? Certainly not Yeosang.

"I think this goes without saying, but you _can't _tell anybody," Seonghwa says, and it's not as vicious as his stare at been earlier. Instead, it sounds incredibly worried, panicked, even. "Seriously, Yeosang-ah. You _can't _tell anybody."

Yeosang nods. "Okay."

A look of betrayal crosses Seonghwa's face, confusing Yeosang. "I'm serious. I can't afford to have people finding out about Hongjoong. Please, you can't say anything."

Never once in Yeosang's school career did he ever think he'd hear Park Seonghwa beg.

"Seonghwa... hyung, I promise I won't tell anybody." He tries to convey the message through his eyes, though he knows that sincerity can be hard to deliver, but he hopes Seonghwa somehow senses it. "Besides, I don't really have anyone to tell," he adds.

Seonghwa's shoulders seem to relax a bit. "Look, I'm really sorry that I have to put this on you. I never... I never expected to see anyone from our school in that part of town. Just, no matter what, please don't tell anyone. And please, tell your friend the same, too. I can't have anyone finding out."

Does Seonghwa not know San?

"Okay," Yeosang says with a firm nod.

Seonghwa lets out an exhausted sigh as he reciprocates a nod of understanding. "Thank you. Really. And please... don't ask me about Hongjoong. It's a very personal matter."

Yeosang can imagine. "Okay."

With a final bow of the head, Seonghwa disappears, and Yeosang is left alone in the restroom with a damp face, fear in his bones, and another secret to keep.

-

At lunch, Yeosang finds Wooyoung out in the courtyard. He's sitting alone at one of the picnic tables, nose buried in one of his textbooks. Of course, San isn't glued to his side, which is an uncommon and almost terrifying sight, especially now that Yeosang knows the reality of where San is.

"Hey," Yeosang greets, standing to Wooyoung's side.

"Oh, hi, Yeosang," Wooyoung replies quietly as he looks up from his textbook. "Wanna sit?"

Yeosang nods, sliding onto the bench next to him. "So I'm guessing San told you," Wooyoung says, to Yeosang's surprise.

"Yeah."

Wooyoung sighs as he closes his textbook and crosses his arms over it. "I guess I should've seen it coming. You can't be homeless and go to school at the same time."

Silence.

Yeosang needs to say something. His body tenses up as his mind starts to race, much like it did when he had been sitting next to Mingi on the bleachers, trying his damn hardest not to watch him cry at his request. The difference is that Mingi probably had some sense of what Yeosang knew, while Wooyoung hasn't a clue.

"I know he's not staying with you, Yeosang."

Yeosang breaks his deliberate blank stare at the tree ahead of him, immediately turning towards the younger. "Wooyoung—"

"Come on, Yeosang. I've known him for _years_. I know that he has too much pride to ask you for a place to sleep. And, like, no offense, but I don't think he feels that close enough to you where he'd feel okay with staying at your house, especially with your parents still around and stuff."

Yeosang kind of agrees.

"So... you know he's been sleeping outside on the streets? In the cold?" he questions, suspicion growing.

"He's not," Wooyoung says matter-of-factly. "He's staying with the convenience store owner."

Owner?

"I thought... I thought Hongjoong was just an employee there."

Wooyoung chuckles and shakes his head. "Well, not the _owner _owner. Tell me, when have you ever seen another soul in that place?"

"I've only been there twice, and... well, yeah, I didn't see anybody either time." He leaves Mars, Seonghwa, out of it.

Wooyoung nods in confirmation. "Yeah. Exactly. Come on, Yeosang. Don't be so naïve."

It's still not clicking. Yeosang doesn't understand what Wooyoung is trying to insinuate, if anything. He simply stares at Wooyoung curiously until he rolls his eyes. "Yeosang, did San tell you that that place is an escort business?"

Yeosang's eyes widen. "What?"

San had mentioned the possibility of Hongjoong being an escort. The _possibility. _He remembers San's exact words, how he said he _thinks _he is one but isn't certain. And now Wooyoung is telling him that San knew all along?

"You've met Hongjoong, right?" Wooyoung asks.

"Yeah... wait, how do you even know I've been there?"

"San tells me everything," Wooyoung says, twiddling his thumbs. A sudden breeze blows his jet black hair back, sprouting goosebumps all over Yeosang's skin despite wearing a thick coat. Wooyoung doesn't even flinch. "And I don't think he knows that I can tell when he's lying. I know for sure he's not staying with you."

Yeosang has been keeping a secret that isn't even a secret. "Then... how do you know he's staying with Hongjoong?"

"San might be reckless and proud, but he's not an idiot," Wooyoung says. "He knows he'd freeze to death if he slept out on the streets. Hongjoong is the only other person who would offer him shelter."

"How do you even know that Hongjoong is an escort?"

Wooyoung chuckles and shakes his head. "It's a long story. You sure you wanna hear it?"

Yeosang nods without hesitation.

"San and I were kinda drunk one night while we were hanging out in a really sketchy part of town. It was near the convenience store, actually, but it was closed at the time. We rounded a corner to see a really pretty boy with red hair just standing, wearing a fucking _fur coat _of all things, and we just look at each other and go, 'Yeah, that guy's a hooker.' He saw us and winked, and since we were drunk, we were like, 'Ha, let's go talk to him!' So we approached him and started asking all sorts of stupid questions, and he just looked at us all amused and shit. He told us that yeah, he was the queerest hooker in this part of town but not to tell a soul. And, get this, he hands me a fucking card for an escort business. That convenience store? Yeah, it's an escort hideout. Run by Hongjoong himself."

It's starting to make sense. Yeosang's been having a lot of revelation moments like this, he realizes.

Though Yeosang doesn't know the true purpose behind Seonghwa being there, he knows why now.

"He's an escort himself but runs the business?" Yeosang questions.

Wooyoung nods. "Yeah. It's very hush-hush. I'm sure there are other people, escorts, involved, but as far as I know, he's the head of it all. He runs the convenience store and the escort hideout."

"Wait, I'm so confused. Does that mean there's some sort of hidden chamber in the convenience store where—"

"No," Wooyoung interrupts. "The convenience store is where negotiations are carried out. It's so that Hongjoong doesn't have to stand out on the street and make it super obvious that he's a prostitute."

"How does... how does Hongjoong run the convenience store? Like, it's an actual store, isn't it?"

"Of course it is. You can't have a store like that with all the products and shit," Wooyoung says. "But the reason why Hongjoong practically runs the place is because the real owner of the store is one of his regulars."

_Oh._

"So... he doesn't _own _the convenience store."

"Right."

"But he runs it along with the escort service."

"Yes."

"Where is the convenience store owner in all of this?"

Wooyoung shrugs. "Don't know. It wasn't one of the questions we asked during our drunken stupor."

Yeosang's brain feels like an overflowing sponge. He's trying so hard to connect all the dots and possibilities while still trying to keep sane, and honestly, he's surprise that he still has the mental capacity to get through a school day.

"Here's what I think: the owner of the convenience store is basically Hongjoong's sugar daddy. Lets him run his escort business through the store and keeps him paid and hidden away, for the most part. I'm certain that Hongjoong has his own place, which is where San is staying."

Wooyoung sounds so confident. Yeosang wonders how much of it is actually true, but he can honestly see all of it being reality.

"San isn't... right?"

Wooyoung shakes his head vigorously. "Absolutely not. He knows that's taking it way too far. Plus, Hongjoong has enough money from his sugar daddy and more to support the two of them. He's in good hands."

_Is he really?_

"If he's... 'in good hands,' why was he telling you that he was staying with me and telling me that he was sleeping on the streets?" Yeosang asks.

Wooyoung's lips curve into a tiny smile. "Like I said, he has too much pride. I don't think he wanted either of us to know that he's staying with a prostitute. He must think that it's a pretty low thing to do, but as long as he's warm and has a place to sleep, I'm happy."

_Are you really?_

"I know what he's thinking. He thinks that he's a burden on me and doesn't want to bring me down. And here's the thing, I could tell him over and over again that he's no burden, that he could never be one to me, and that I would do absolutely anything for him, and he would still find a way to blame himself for any misfortune that comes my way." Wooyoung is still smiling as he glances up at the almost leaf-less tree towering over them. "I try to see him during the day when my parents aren't home, which is why I've been skipping school, but now that he's getting rid of his phone, I won't even be able to stay in contact with him."

"Couldn't you stay in contact with Hongjoong?"

"Well yeah, but neither of them know what I know," Wooyoung says. Yeosang nods in understanding.

"San... he doesn't want to bring me down, but I don't want to bring him down either," he continues.

"What do you mean?" Yeosang asks, and that's when a light bulb goes off in his head.

He wonders if Wooyoung knows what he knows. He wonders if San knows, though he doubts it. Even though things are a little more clear now, there are new lies, new secrets that have been built upon and updated, but not once has the subject of Wooyoung making himself throw up come up in any conversation.

Wooyoung chuckles bitterly. "Well, we all have our demons, don't we?"

It's not necessarily a confession, but it's something. Yeosang wonders if Wooyoung will ever tell him, or if he has to find out the hard way. He really hopes it isn't either, that Wooyoung is _fine, _that he's not starving himself or purging or hating the way his body looks in the mirror. But like he said, everyone has their demons.

It's not a confession, but it is.

Yeosang wonders if Wooyoung knows that San loves him.

"San needs you," he finds himself saying. "He tells me all the time that you're the only one who understands him."

Wooyoung's smile widens. "I guess that's true."

"Are you gonna stop seeing him?"

Wooyoung shakes his head. "Of course not. He's my best friend, after all."

"Then how are you going to see him if you can't get in contact with him?"

"I have my ways."

Yeosang doesn't question it further.

"Tell me, Yeosang. I know you're friends with Choi Jongho, right?" Wooyoung asks, to which Yeosang nods. "I don't know how close you are with him, but I know you two are friends. Would you say he's your closest friend?"

Yeosang nods without a doubt. "Would you do anything for him, even if it might not be the right thing?"

Yeosang's breath gets caught in his throat. It closes in on him. It feels like someone has knocked all the oxygen out of his lungs as the air thickens around him, and he suddenly finds black spots beginning to appear at the sides of his vision as his brain is sent into overdrive. He wonders if Wooyoung is some kind of psychic who's filing through all of the secrets, all of the lies Yeosang has told Jongho just to keep the younger from knowing the harsh reality of things going on around him. There's no way Wooyoung knows, obviously, but it's enough to send Yeosang into an internal frenzy.

He knows the answer has to be yes, because he's already doing it. He nods again.

"You see, that's how I feel about San," Wooyoung says. "I _could _tell him that I know the truth, that he's been staying with Hongjoong, but... I want him to hold onto his pride. It's the one thing that he's always had, and I don't want him to lose it."

"But... he has you. You mean so much to him," Yeosang adds, his voice barely above a whisper, not wanting to think about it.

Wooyoung sighs and smiles again, eerily similar to the one Yeosang had seen on San's face on the bridge. "There's not much of me left anyway."

Yeosang hasn't a clue as to what exactly Wooyoung means by that, but that's when he _really _gets a look at the raven-haired boy's face. He sees it, even through the makeup so intricately placed to conceal the signs of his weariness; his sunken eyes, the way his cheeks seem to sag with lack of sleep, how the fine lines of the corners of his mouth poke through. He can see the way the muscles and veins in Wooyoung's neck stick out more than a normal human's would. Though he can't see below his neck due to the design of their uniforms, Yeosang can only imagine.

He glances down at Wooyoung's textbook. There's no lunch. No snack. Not a single morsel of food to be seen.

"Don't worry, Yeosang," Wooyoung says. "I'm not going to stop seeing San."

Yeosang doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

"Anyway, I'm gonna go see one of my teachers. I have to... catch up on the work I missed."

"Oh, okay."

Wooyoung gives Yeosang one last smile before standing up from the picnic table and walking back into the school building. Yeosang watches him all the way there.

The pit in his stomach keeps growing. He still has biology and P.E. to get through, where two more secrets are being kept in the forms of Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi, and he just wishes that the pit would somehow transform into a black hole and swallow him entirely.

-

Yeosang immediately gets the feeling something is wrong as soon as Yunho takes his seat next to him. There's no warm smile or greeting, just the same purple bruise and a dull, neutral expression. Yeosang even says hi, to which he responds with a slight bob of the head. Luckily, the bruise hasn't gotten any bigger and there don't seem to be any new ones, but that's only from what Yeosang can see.

The teacher signals the beginning of class and everyone starts chattering, all except for Yeosang and Yunho. Yeosang tries to make himself look busy by taking out his notebook and reading over the essay he's written, but Yunho doesn't move an inch.

"Yunho," Yeosang says. "Yunho, we need to work."

Yunho looks over at him, almost like he'd been snapped out of a trance, and nods. "I know." He lets out a heavy sigh before leaning down to grab his notebook from his backpack when Yeosang notices the way his face twists in discomfort when he does so.

"Everything okay?" Yeosang asks as Yunho drops his notebook down onto the lab table.

"Yeah. Just a bit sore."

It's such a stupid question, and Yeosang knows it. Of course nothing is okay, and of course Yunho would say it is.

"Did you, um, get any further into the essay?" Yeosang asks.

Yunho shakes his head, opening his notebook to the single-page essay he'd written during the previous class. They'd almost finished the project, a presentation, but the essay is just as important. It's also due the following Wednesday, meaning that if Yunho doesn't get cracking on this paper, his grade would probably drop to a D, maybe a C at best. "We could meet up at the library after school on Monday so I can help you write the rest of it. Or you could stop by my house over the weekend and work on it there."

"You'd really help me write the rest of my essay? It's literally one page in writing. I haven't even typed it out. How long does it have to be again?"

"It's a lab report, so it only has to be four pages typed," Yeosang tells him. He can see Yunho's eyes widen slightly.

"Shit."

"It's okay, Yunho," Yeosang reassures him. "I'll help you write the rest of it. Obviously, I won't write it for you, but I can point you in the write direction and tell you what you can write about."

"What about your paper?" Yunho asks.

"I've... almost finished it," Yeosang says, which is a half-truth. He's written four pages, which would easily equate to three typed, and all he really needs to do is add a few things and revise. He could also easily finish up the rest of the presentation to take the load off of Yunho's shoulders. It would take him a solid three hours to do all of it.

He's not going to tell Yunho that, though. He doesn't have to know.

Yunho sighs again, biting his lip as he glances down at his work. "I have practice after school today and something going on tomorrow and Monday after school. Tuesday I have practice again. Would Sunday work for you?"

Yeosang nods. "Yeah, definitely."

He can see the tiniest of smiles appear on Yunho's face, and though it's smaller, it's just as warm and even a little grateful. "Well, for now you could write even more of that essay to get even further, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask me," Yeosang offers, trying to mirror Yunho's warm smile.

"Thank you, Yeosang."

His voice is smooth like velvet, a genuine gratefulness that Yeosang has never heard directed towards him his entire life. He can feel Yunho's appreciation, but it's tinged with guilt as he gets to work on his own essay because as soon as he starts writing, he realizes it'll take him a lot less time to finish than he thought.

He occasionally glances over at Yunho just to monitor his progress. By the end of the class, Yunho's got another page down, and Yeosang is finished with six total pages in his notebook, revisions, a probably a solid five pages typed, and a finished presentation saved onto his tablet.

"I don't know how you do it, Yeosang," Yunho tells him as they're packing up. "How is everything so easy for you?"

"It's not," Yeosang says instinctively, only to realize that Yunho probably meant just academics.

Yunho's eyebrows knit together as he crosses his arms. A smirk appears on his face. "Don't try to be modest. You finished both your essay and the presentation from what I saw. It's like you’re a human computer."

"Okay, that's definitely an exaggeration," Yeosang says with a chuckle.

Yunho laughs too, and Yeosang tries his hardest not to watch the bruise move with his eyes. While it's pleasant to see Yunho smiling and laughing, Yeosang knows that there's _something _behind it all, and he can only wonder how the hell Yunho is so good at making it seem like nothing is wrong.

Yeosang had seen that moment of weakness, though. He'd seen the lost, blank expression on Yunho's face and knew something was wrong as soon as he didn't greet him with a smile. Yet somehow, Yunho's smile in this moment is able to make him forget about that. It's like his smile is literally the sun, blinding Yeosang from the clouds he had seen earlier.

"Maybe, but you're pretty damn smart. I wish I was," Yunho says, still smiling, but it changes. It's not warm. It's cold, almost like the smiles he'd seen from both San and Wooyoung, a tragic smile overshadowed by tragedy and anguish. It's envious, but not threatening. It's just... sad. A sad smile that is trying its hardest to appear happy.

"You are, Yunho," Yeosang says confidently. It's real. He means it, because he knows that while Yunho may not be academic smart, there's a good chance he's street smart, common sense smart, and he's definitely an ace when it comes to athletics. "There are so many different ways to be smart. It doesn't have to be in the classroom."

"Thank you so much, Yeosang," Yunho says, his smile turning upwards a little. "It... it really means a lot, knowing that _someone_ has faith in me."

Yeosang hopes he means it in one sense, the academic sense, because if no one else has faith in him, even in the athletic realm, then what has this world come to?

Yunho seems like the kind of guy who never backs out, never backs down. Just his smile can light up an entire room, and Yeosang isn't even that _close _with him to truly know what he's like. He's just so radiant, like a sunrise, but Yeosang knows that all sunrises end, and sometimes it rains.

The bell rings, and Yunho smiles at him one more time before heading out.

Yeosang feels rained on.

He trudges out of the classroom, wondering just how Yunho seems to shine through everything, even that revolting bruise on his face. He feels betrayed somehow, like Yunho's smile is both warm and unintentionally cunning at the same time, deceiving him and everyone else around him to make it look like that bruise doesn't exist. Yeosang has to remind himself that it _does, _but Yunho's smile, that goddamn smile, makes it impossible to even think about the possibilities behind it.

But Yunho's smile is the last thing on his mind as he pushes through the rest of his classes before P.E. Now that Yunho isn't present and the smile is just a picture in his brain, the possibilities come forward from the pessimistic core, and even though Yeosang already has his assumptions, it doesn't stop him from worrying.

Not when Yeosang remembers how Yunho bent over in pain. Not when he remembers Yunho's face, eyes squeezed shut in discomfort just to pick a notebook out of his backpack.

It's more than just his face now. Yeosang can make all the assumptions he wants about how Yunho got the bruise on his face, but whatever caused that bruise was probably what caused Yunho to be hunched over in pain.

Whatever caused the bruise on Yunho's face probably caused even more. Yet Yunho said everything was fine.

Yunho must think Yeosang is an idiot for asking such a question. Yeosang thinks so too.

And what's more, Yeosang isn't as smart as Yunho paints him to be.

-

Yeosang is worried when Mingi doesn't show up to P.E.

Perhaps it's for the best, since today ends up being a team day. Yeosang is placed on a team with decent people, though pretty much everyone gives Mingi shit, so he tosses the word "decent" out the window and replaces it with "tolerable."

His athletic abilities certainly aren't the best, but they're not the worst. He can play a decent game of soccer, which is what they do, and he thinks it's his off-putting attitude that prevents people from wanting to talk shit about him.

Well, except for today.

"—the hell does he think he is?" he hears as he nears a corner of the locker room.

"Dude, chill. He's done nothing wrong."

"He's so irritating. Like why the fuck does he even bother with that Mingi dude?"

"Don't know. He probably just pities the guy or something."

Yeosang scoffs as he makes his way into the room where three of the classmates are changing. "Lovely to hear that you care enough to talk about me," he says.

The three of them look at each other, expecting someone to say something, but Yeosang doesn't give him the chance. "So you're perfectly okay with talking shit about me behind my back, yet can't bring yourself to say anything to my face?"

Still nothing.

Yeosang has to admit he's surprised. He sees this in movies a lot, where someone decides to stick up for themselves but ends up getting punched by the bullies just so the bullies can prove their worth. But it's not happening.

"Mingi is a nice person," Yeosang continues. "He's shit at sports, I'll give you that, but that doesn't make him weak or a pussy or whatever other names you probably call him. If you seriously think that someone's athletic ability determines their worth, I seriously suggest you hop off your own dicks and read a fucking book."

He storms out.

His heart is racing as he makes giant strides back to his house, not even caring about the wind pricking at his face. His body is on high alert, expecting the boys to come after him and jump him or something, but it doesn't happen. He makes it home, slams the door shut behind him, and practically bolts up the stairs.

With his mind cluttered by all sorts of thoughts, he does what comes as second nature to him: schoolwork.

He scans the next three chapters of his history book like he's a computer, taking in all the words and information and storing it somewhere deep in his brain. He knows he won't forget it, because he can't seem to forget things no matter how hard he tries, even if it's about school. He types out his lab report at a hundred words a minute, even making _more _revisions as he goes, and he ends up with _seven _pages instead of four. He polishes the presentation until it's spotless and A+ worthy, and only stops when he realizes that he's deleted some of Yunho's contributions.

He swallows hard before he pushes his laptop away from him. He stares at it until his eyes go numb, blinking constantly to rid them of tears before pulling his laptop back and adding back Yunho's work.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles to himself. To Yunho.

He types. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."

He types and types and types.

When he's finished, he saves the project and closes it, closes his laptop, and cries.

It's the second time he's cried in a week. Yeosang is pretty sure he's gone without crying for a year before. He just wonders, out of all the times this could've happened, why _now_?

Why, at the peak of their youth, are so many terrible things happening to his friends?

Friends. The word resonates in Yeosang's mind. He's been telling himself all along that he's not friends with Yunho or Mingi or Wooyoung, that he's _maybe _friends with San. Yet he can't even come up with another word to describe his relationships with them.

Acquaintances? Yeosang is pretty sure he knows too much about them to be considered "acquaintances." He's just not sure if they know what he knows.

Classmates? Yeosang scraps the thought immediately.

Friends. It's the only word he can think of.

Though not as close to him as Jongho is, they still rely on him because he has their secrets. He holds so much power over them because he knows too much, yet no one, not even him, is saying anything. However, Yeosang is pretty sure that no one _has _to say anything, because to him, all of it is pretty fucking obvious.

And what's worst of all? They think he has faith in them when he doesn't. Not one ounce.

It's nothing personal with any of them. It's not situational, it's not anything like that.

Yeosang just thinks that things won't get better. Not when he's at the center of it all. Part of him wishes that these secrets would just _drown _so that he wouldn't have to keep them anymore. Ideally, he'd want them to not exist at all, but that's the reality. As long as he's the vessel, the one thing that ties everything together, nothing will get better because he _can't say anything_.

His phone rings.

It's an unknown number, and though Yeosang doesn't normally pick up random numbers, his common sense is kind of nonexistent at the moment, so he answers.

"Hello?"

"Oh, hi! Can you hear me? Yeosangie?"

Yeosang shoots up in his desk chair. "Hongjoong?"

"Of course it's me, who else sounds like me and would call you?" Hongjoong laughs, sounding as ridiculous as ever.

"How did you get my number?" Yeosang asks.

"Sannie, of course! He gave me your number because he decided to chuck his off a bridge."

An alarm goes off in Yeosang's head. He can't believe how casual Hongjoong sounds. "Hongjoong, where is he?"

"Dunno. He left a little while ago. He just stopped in to give me your number. Oh, and he told me to tell you not to worry about him."

Yeah, like that's gonna prevent him from worrying.

"Anyway, you should stop by! I kind of miss seeing your pretty face."

Yeosang rolls his eyes, wiping the remnants of his tears away. "You saw me literally yesterday."

"What can I say? I'm attached."

"Hongjoong, in case you've forgotten, I'm still in high school and I live with my parents. I don't think they'd be happy with me going out again. And no, don't try to convince me and tell me that 'they don't have to know.'"

Hongjoong giggles. "Sweetie, I wasn't going to tell you that. It was merely a suggestion. Just know that you're always welcome to stop in."

"Yeah, okay." Yeosang can't help but feel a little more lighthearted.

"But Yeosangie," Hongjoong says, sounding surprisingly serious, "just know that San _is _going to be okay. He's safe. He might not be able to get into contact with you or Wooyoung over the phone anymore, but this isn't the last you'll see of him."

Yeosang finds himself standing up but nearly toppling over. His legs have gone numb from sitting for so long and his chest feels frozen as he shudders with realization. "Wait, Hongjoong, how do you know—" He searches for the right question to ask.

"How do you know about... _that_?"

Hongjoong just giggles again. "Oh, Yeosangie. I know a lot more than you think. I know all about Wooyoung, I know that San is homeless, and I know that you know a lot more than you put on. For example, I'm sure you know that San is staying with me."

"Hongjoong, _how_ do you know all of that?" Yeosang exclaims, his chest now burning with something that he can only describe as betrayal.

"When you've got nothing to lose, you spill a lot of secrets," Hongjoong tells him. "Don't take this the wrong way though, Yeosang. That last part about you knowing a lot more than you put on? That's just my assumption. You seem like quite the mysterious type. Here, if you stop in, I'll gladly discuss _everything _with you. When or if you do is up to you."

Yeosang can feel his blood boiling, surging through his veins as he hangs up, maybe a little aggressively, before throwing on his coat and stepping back outside into the cold. He can't feel it this time around. Everything in his body is screaming, telling him that this is _really _not a good idea, not when he hasn't even _seen _his parents in a matter over the past two days.

Still, he can't bring himself to care.

It's his curiosity. His nosiness. Whatever is kicking in right now. Yeosang doesn't care.

He just has to know.

-

"Oh, would you look at that?" Hongjoong quips as soon as Yeosang opens the door to the store. "You decided to pay me a visit after all, hm?"

Yeosang doesn't say anything as he approaches the counter. It's nearing seven, meaning his parents are probably almost home. He sent them a text saying he was going to hang out with Jongho at the cinema, hoping that it was a believable lie and that they wouldn't try to find out if it was one.

"Hongjoong," he says, out of breath.

Just then, Hongjoong smiles sympathetically at him and sighs. What he does next surprises Yeosang; he steps out from behind the counter and flips the 'open' sign to 'closed.' "Let's go for a walk, shall we?"

Yeosang knows that he shouldn't, but every part of his body is telling him to go because Hongjoong _knows. _What exactly he knows, Yeosang isn't sure of, but he's completely given into his curiosity, nosiness, whatever. He just wants to _know._

Hongjoong takes him out through the back entrance, shutting off all the lights before they leave. "Don't worry, babe. I practically own the place; I can shut it down whenever I want."

Yeosang wasn't even going to say anything about it, but he nods anyway.

Hongjoong takes him through what Yeosang assumes are the backstreets, where they don't see a single soul pass by. It's all run-down brick buildings and stray telephone wires, garbage heaps and the undeniable stench of weed and urine. Honestly, Yeosang is surprised that they haven't passed anybody by yet, but in turn, is very, very relieved.

"I know it looks bad now, but it won't for long," Hongjoong says.

Surely enough, as soon as they round a corner a few minutes later, the stench disappears and the crowded alleyways diverge into open spaces and streets. Hongjoong leads him down one of them, lined by what looks to be luxury apartment complexes.

Yeosang has a feeling about where this is going.

"I'm sure you know that San is staying with me," Hongjoong says out of the blue. "Unfortunately, he only _sleeps _at my place, so you won't see him."

Yeosang bites his lip, reluctantly yet enthusiastically following Hongjoong to the driveway of one of the complexes. Hongjoong takes out his wallet, which Yeosang notices is _stuffed, _and pulls out a key card.

The apartment complexes have fucking key-card activated locks. Go figure.

As soon as Yeosang steps inside, he's overwhelmed with an artificial citrus scent. There's something else there that he can't quite put his finger on, but he has no desire to find out what it is. He glances around at his surroundings.

It's a very modern, sleek apartment, garnished with marble countertops and golden hardwood flooring, all polished and contemporary. It's definitely something a convenience store employee wouldn't be able to afford, but then again, Yeosang knows Hongjoong isn't a convenience store employee.

It's mesmerizing.

"Make yourself at home, dear. Do you drink?" Hongjoong asks.

Yeosang shakes his head. "Well, that's alright. You can have a seat on the sofa, get comfortable and all."

The sofa is a gray nine-person sectional, much too big for someone who lives _alone. _Yeosang sits down awkwardly, taking note of how soft the suede of it is, as Hongjoong pours himself a glass of wine.

"So, Yeosangie. I know I sounded quite cryptic over the phone, but I'll cut straight to the chase." Hongjoong sits beside him, but still puts enough distance between them for Yeosang to feel a little more comfortable. "I'm sure you know who I really am by now. Or rather, _what _I am."

Yeosang nods, unable to find words. "And trust me, Yeosangie. I'm not worried at all. I don't care that you know. But at the same time, there are some things I'd like to clarify. Is that okay?"

Yeosang nods again.

"Good. Now, San is staying with me, but only at night. I gave him a key, so he can come and go as he pleases. There are nights where I don't come back here, so I leave it up to San, whether he wants to come here or not. Are you following me?"

Another nod.

"I know it sounds... wrong, but I have no control over what San does, and I don't _want _to. When San told me about his situation, I offered my place to him, and he graciously accepted it. I'm quite sure that he does come here to sleep at night, so there isn't much to worry about there."

Yeosang wonders what Hongjoong means by 'not wanting to have control over what San does,' but he doesn't question it. If anything, it reminds him a little bit of himself.

"I also trust that you will not tell people all willy-nilly about who I am and what I do. I run a tight ship, and while I might not be the most subtle person in the world, I still can't have authorities busting down the door and arresting me. Although... one of my clients _is _a cop." Hongjoong giggles to himself, taking another sip of his wine. "Anyway, promise me that you won't tell people about me? Please?" He pouts as he holds his pinky finger out.

Yeosang sends him an 'are you serious' look, but he keeps his pinky out, and Yeosang just rolls his eyes and hooks his with Hongjoong's. "Lovely! Now that that's out of the way, I'm sure you want to know more about San and Wooyoung's situation, right?"

Yeosang glances down at his hands, which are placed crossed on his lap. "It's okay, darling," Hongjoong says comfortingly, resting a hand on Yeosang's knee. "You're allowed to be curious, especially if you're concerned. You _are _concerned, aren't you?"

Yeosang doesn't know how much truth he finds in that statement, but he nods anyway.

"Okay. So this is what happened. San came to me the day after you came into the shop with him. He told me he was homeless, that his parents kicked him out for some weird and stupid reason, and that he'd slept out in the cold the night before. I offered him my place, and though he was hesitant, he accepted. Now, I _have_ spent the past few nights here just to keep an eye on him, give him some support and talk with him about things. He told me that he's dropped out and threw his phone off a bridge. You knew about that, right?"

"Yeah. He told me yesterday after we stopped in."

"Good. At least he told you that. Look, Yeosangie, I might be telling you things that you might not even know, that San may or may not want you to know, but you _deserve _to know. You care about San, right?"

Yeosang bites his lip nervously. "Yeah, of course."

He just doesn't want to think about it right now.

"Did he tell you how he feels about Wooyoung?"

Yeosang nods. "Yeah, he told me that yesterday too."

Hongjoong smirks, amused. "Looks like he dropped the same bomb on us. Well, let me ask you something, Yeosang. You see Wooyoung at school, right?" Yeosang nods in confirmation. "How close are you with him?"

"Not very," Yeosang says.

"Hm. Do you see him often?"

"Not really."

"I see. Well, don't take my word for this, but I don't think things are going to end well for them."

Yeosang feels his heart drop into his stomach. "Who knows? Things could turn around for them. But from what San's told me about Wooyoung, and from what I noticed when I first met them, they're going to destroy each other," Hongjoong continues.

Yeosang can feel his blood thinning, running cold. He's had enough worrying for today. He shouldn't be in the living room of a luxury apartment belonging to an escort with who-knows-how-many sugar daddies who provide for him; he should be at home, in his bed, listening to music and waiting for his parents to come home. Instead, he's doing just that, and his parents are probably already home and are probably going to ground him as soon as he gets back.

He feels like throwing up.

"I don't know if either of them told you when I first met them, but here's how it went. I was standing out on the corner waiting for one of my clients to pick me up when those two drunk bastards decided it would be a good idea to play twenty questions with me. It was honestly kind of amusing, so I decided to indulge in their little stupid game. They seemed so happy, like fools in love, you know? And that's what they are. They're fools in love. They were so busy laughing and being all giddy together that they didn't notice how I was staring them down, observing them, I guess, and I noticed how awful they looked. They looked so tired, especially Wooyoung. Now, I didn't know either of their names at the time, and I didn't learn them until San stopped by the store, but... if I had to guess, I'd say there are a lot of dark things behind that relationship."

Yeosang gulps down the secrets that are threatening to pour out of his mouth. Hongjoong is absolutely right, but he doesn't know the half of it; he doesn't know what Yeosang has observed himself or what his assumptions are. If Hongjoong were to hear them, he'd certainly agree.

In the end, he's unable to control himself. Though he's already cried today, he feels tears pooling at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. "He... Wooyoung, he's—" Yeosang is unable to stop the first tear, and the second, and what feels like a million spilling over at once. "I-I think he's... I think he's starving himself. And making himself throw up."

Hongjoong's eyebrows furrow as he recoils backwards. "What makes you think that?"

"At lunch one day, San was eating and I asked him where Wooyoung was, and he said he was in the bathroom, but he was taking a while. I got up to go to the bathroom, and when I went inside, it smelled like puke and there was someone in the stall furthest away from the door."

He pauses, recollecting the memory as he remembers it, but now, all he can picture is Wooyoung heaving over the toilet with his fingers shoved down his throat. He winces as a strangled sob makes its way out of his mouth. He feels a comforting arm around his shoulders, rocking him gently as more tears fall and more sobs force their way out of his body. "It's okay, Yeosangie."

"It's not okay!" Yeosang snaps, his voice cracking. "Wooyoung, he... I didn't see who it was, but when I was doing my business, the person walked out, and when I got back to San's table, Wooyoung was there, and then San told him to eat and he said he wasn't hungry in the most hostile tone and..."

Hongjoong wraps another arm around him, enveloping his trembling shoulders in a tight embrace. "It was him. I can't... I can't think of any other possibility. It's been killing me, knowing that it had to be him."

Yeosang feels Hongjoong nod even though his body is curled up in his arms. "I understand, Yeosang. Even though you didn't see his face, all signs point to him."

"Yes." Hearing Hongjoong speak the words that have been tormenting his mind for the past few days makes him feel a little less... crazy.

His Jongho persona disappears.

"It was him, I'm sure of it," Yeosang mumbles, still trying to steady his breathing. "I'm so, _so_ sick of trying to convince myself it was someone else."

Hongjoong nods again. "I get it, Yeosang. I'm so sorry you've been feeling like this. When people aren't certain of things, they try their best to make assumptions, and sometimes those assumptions are completely reasonable. We just don't want to believe the worst ones, so we try to convince ourselves of other, better ones when deep down, we know the truth."

Yeosang has never heard Hongjoong like this. He's never heard him so calm, so... gentle and comforting. Hongjoong has always presented himself as flighty and playful, never so serious and always so flamboyant, but seeing a new side of him is almost refreshing to Yeosang.

Hongjoong just seems a little more human this way.

"I want to tell San so bad," Yeosang murmurs. "He... he deserves to know. That Wooyoung is doing this to himself."

Hongjoong sighs and releases Yeosang from his arms. "Yeosang, I don't think that's a good idea. San's got a lot going on right now, and they're already so dangerous for each other. If you tell San about Wooyoung, it's definitely not going to end well for either of them. Plus, San has no way of getting in contact with Wooyoung now that he doesn't have a phone, so—"

"You could stay in contact with Wooyoung for San, right?"

Hongjoong's facial expression tenses. "Yeosang, I'm not a matchmaker. I am not going to be a means of communication between two people I don't believe should be together in the first place," he says rigidly. 

Yeosang wishes he had a resolve like Hongjoong. What Hongjoong said he wouldn't be, Yeosang already is.

"We can't stop San from being with Wooyoung," Hongjoong says. "Trying to intervene would only make things worse. I think it would be best for them and for us if they work things out themselves. Do you understand?"

Yeosang nods, but he isn't sure if he does.

"Good."

What bothers Yeosang the most is that while Hongjoong helped, he didn't at all. It's comforting knowing that now he isn't the only one keeping secrets, but they're still there, contained within the confines of his poor, cynical excuse for a brain. And there they will stay, untouched and unsaid to the people who need them most. While Hongjoong is keeping them now, he won't do anything with them, nor does he seem to care. Yeosang isn't all that surprised, however. Though Hongjoong is kind, he is free, and wants to remain that way.

Yeosang wishes he was too.

-

When Yeosang returns home, it's dark, and it's empty.

Confused, he checks the table for a note, but there ends up not being one. He checks his phone, and there are no messages, not even from Jongho. Absolutely nothing.

He fixes himself a plate of leftovers that he hadn't eaten the previous night. As he fills his stomach, it churns with the thought of Wooyoung forcing his empty. He manages to force down half the plate before discarding the rest. With heavy feet, he heads upstairs to the refuge of his bedroom, where he plops down on his bed, wishing that the past week never happened.

He lies there, staring blankly at the ceiling for a long, long time.

When he finally hears a car pull into his driveway, it's nearing ten o'clock. He's not sure what time he got home, but he's sure it was at least two hours ago. He stands up abruptly, ignoring the dizziness that came with it, and carefully steps down the staircase.

"Oh, Yeosang! You're home!" his mother cries, surprisingly enthusiastically, before attacking him with a tight hug. "Did you eat?"

Yeosang nods as she pulls away. "Good," she says, grinning.

His father appears behind her shortly afterwards holding a couple grocery bags, and Yeosang takes a couple steps backwards to make room. "Son! Good to see you're still alive!"

Yeosang tries to hide his confusion. He's never heard his parents speak in this manner to him, and he was certain that they'd flip out on him for being home late, but then he realizes they probably didn't know. Maybe it had been his anxious brain fucking with him again.

"We've got some exciting news, Yeosang," his mother tells him, ushering him into the kitchen.

Yeosang can feel the apprehension creeping up on him again. For the past few days, tensions between him and his family have been high, and now they're acting celebratory? And for what?

His mother motions for him to have a seat at the table where she sits across from him. His father puts the grocery bags down on one of the counters before joining the rest of his family, a wide smile plastered on his face. "So, son, your mother and I have been invited to a very important business meeting in Japan." His parents turn to look at each other, both smiling triumphantly. "And if we go, there's a good chance I could get promoted!"

Yeosang tries his best to mimic their happiness. He really does. There are just so many other things built up inside him, and none of it is good, not a single thing even comes close to resembling happiness. His parents don't seem to notice though, lost in their own elation. His mother squeals, clapping her hands together in excitement. "Your father has a very high chance of getting promoted, Yeosang. It would be so great for this family."

_What family? There's only me._

"I'm glad," Yeosang says. "You work hard, Dad."

"Thank you, son," his father says with a warm smile that reminds him of Yunho's for some reason.

"So, here comes the hard part," his mother says with a sigh. "This business trip is going to last two weeks. Will you be okay being home alone for that long?"

While Yeosang _does _think he'd be okay, he's the last of his worries. So he nods. "We'll give you money for food and anything else you might need for entertainment. It should be enough to last you a month, actually. Just don't go spending it on ridiculous and unnecessary things, okay?" his mother asks.

He nods again.

"If you want to go over Jongho's or you want him to come here, that's perfectly fine with us. Just try not to make a mess, okay?"

"Of course," he says.

"Your father and I were actually at a party for one of his coworkers. That's why we got home so late. I hope we didn't worry you," his mother tells him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

_I hope I didn't worry _you.

"No, it's okay. You didn't."

His mother sighs happily, smiling again at her husband before dropping her hand from Yeosang's shoulder. "When do you leave?" he asks.

"Tomorrow morning," she says. "Early. We'll probably end up getting only a few hours of sleep tonight, and we might not see you before we leave. In that case, we'll give you a call once we've landed, okay?"

"Okay."

Yeosang swears he's never seen his parents smile this much in his life. Despite everything that's been happening, he has to admit, it's a bit relieving to see that at least _some _of the people he cares about are thriving. His own parents.

He feels guilty. He doesn't know why. He knows he should be happy for them, but maybe it's that one night he came home late. The way he'd retreated to his room without an explanation. The way it was never mentioned again. The way Yeosang had been worried that his father would _hit him, _all because of the pain San had felt, that he is now feeling.

He's sick of crying. He steels himself, telling himself that these are his _parents, _that they're happy and excited, and that he should be too.

He should be. He just isn't.

He tries to sleep that night. He really does. He loses track of time, however, and by the time he thinks he's asleep, his parents are causing a ruckus downstairs as they struggle to get all of their things out the door and into the car. He can hear it all, but he doesn't try to get up from his bed. He simply lays there with his eyes closed but his brain wide awake, as he waits for the sunrise to pry his eyes open. Secretly, he waits for Jongho to come knocking on his door, to tell him to get his ass up so they can watch a brand new day, but nothing like that happens.

The sun rises, and the only time Yeosang gets up is to draw the curtains closed. He crawls straight back into bed and closes his eyes once more.

The sun rises, a new day begins, and Yeosang wishes the sun would stop trying to remind him that time doesn't freeze for anybody. That his friends will only to continue to suffer, his family will continue to thrive, and life will continue on.

The sun rises. Yeosang wishes it didn't.


	4. dim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky dims.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of abuse, self-harm, eating disorders, vague suicidal thoughts, implied sexual abuse, semi-explicit sexual content, and dubious consent
> 
> (and peep the perks of being a wallflower references)

When Yeosang finally gets out of bed, it's not because he wants to. The growling of his stomach becomes to much to ignore; plus, there's a pounding at his door that he knows could only belong to one person.

Dragging his feet down the stairs, he catches a glimpse of the antique clock hanging from the wall that for some reason still works, and sees that it's noon. So that's why his stomach kept growling.

He opens the door first, to see a cheery-looking Jongho. "Hi, hyung!"

Yeosang blinks and wipes the crust from his eyes. "Jongho, what are you doing here?"

"Your parents told my parents that they were going away for a little while, so I figured I'd keep you company so you won't have to be alone! Plus, I feel like we haven't really hung out with each other for a while, you know? Can I come in?" Jongho is speaking at a hundred miles an hour, making it hard for Yeosang's sluggish brain to keep up, but he steps aside anyway, not feeling up to arguing with Jongho when all he can think about is food and how tired he is. Jongho grins and steps inside, immediately removing his shoes.

"Do you have food?" Jongho asks.

Yeosang shrugs. "Could probably fix myself some cereal or something."

"Nonsense! Look, my parents gave me some money. Let's go out to lunch or something! Oh wait, did you just wake up?"

"Yeah," Yeosang says, chuckling.

Jongho frowns. "Hyung, you should really start taking better care of yourself."

Yeosang wants to scoff. If only he knew.

"I was up late last night doing homework," Yeosang lies (again). "Wanted to get a head start on things, you know?"

Jongho nods, still grinning with his gums out in the open. His teeth are so tiny, like him, in a way. "You're a really hard worker, hyung. But you still need to take care of yourself. When's the last time you've eaten a good meal that wasn't school lunch?"

Yeosang shrugs. At least that's not a lie. "That's it, hyung. We're going out to lunch. Or in your case, brunch. Let's go!"

"At least let me get ready first," Yeosang chuckles, already heading back upstairs, Jongho following closely behind.

-

They end up going to this popular brunch café where Yeosang ends up ordering a lot more than he anticipated. His hunger had gotten the best of him, and when he really thought about it, he'd only eaten full meals at school for the past few days. There had been the awkward dinners with his parents, but it was nothing too special, and Yeosang vaguely remembers not even finishing his plate. This time around, he scrapes the last bits of food off his plate as Jongho watches, an amused smirk on his face.

"What did I tell you?" he asks rhetorically.

"Shut up," Yeosang says, muffled by the mouthful of food currently stuffed in his cheeks.

Jongho just giggles as he finishes up his own plate. "I missed hanging out with you, hyung. I was really worried about you. It was like you were trying to avoid me or something."

Yeosang swallows his food, but guilt crawls up his throat, making it difficult. He hadn't been _trying _to avoid Jongho, he thinks. If anything, Jongho was the one person Yeosang wishes he could've seen more, to get him away from all the negativity, the suffering that his friends had been feeling. He'd failed to conjure his Jongho persona multiple times, and maybe it was the lack of seeing Jongho that caused it, though Yeosang knows it's just wishful thinking.

Huh. Maybe his Jongho persona is still up and running.

"I wasn't," Yeosang says, sighing. "It's just been really hectic lately."

"Oh? Why?"

"Just the biology project, parents going away. That kinda stuff."

He leaves San out. He doesn't want to think about San right now, the one person in his life that's both feeling and causing the most pain, when he's in front of the only person who can offer some shade of relief.

"Oh."

Yeosang waits for Jongho to ask about San, but the questions never come. Instead, he lets Yeosang eat peacefully, watching him carefully as he finishes the rest of his food. Yeosang can feel the unasked questions floating around Jongho's head, but he isn't ready, not nearly enough, to talk about them. He's not sure if he will ever be ready.

The side of town they're in is the complete opposite of where Yeosang has been finding himself lately, and it's even in the opposite direction as well. It's a nice break from the run down part of town, though both sides share one thing in common: the bridge. On one side, there's the school, Yeosang's neighborhood, and generally clean and refined civilization, and on the other, there's Hongjoong's convenience store/escort service, streets cluttered with garbage bags and dog shit, and, weirdly enough, luxurious condominiums that Yeosang imagines belong to wealthy businessmen looking to get away from their wives for a few weeks.

Yeosang is pretty sure Jongho has never crossed the bridge, and quite frankly, he doesn't want him to. He doesn't deserve to know about the dark things that have happened on and across that bridge. Though it's accompanied by a beautiful view of a small section of the ocean, and would probably be an ideal spot to watch Jongho's beloved sunrises, the bridge itself serves as a constant reminder that these things are _happening. _That the sun _does _rise every day, and that his friends will only continue to suffer when it does.

Jongho doesn't have to know. What he doesn't know won't hurt him. It can't.

As they walk out of the café, Yeosang vows to himself that he will never take Jongho to the bridge.

-

"What's Yunho-hyung like?" Jongho asks suddenly as they're casually strolling down the street, ice cream cones in hand.

At the mention of Yunho's name, Yeosang instantly feels the pit in his stomach again. He swallows his ice cream, though it feels like a rock descending down his throat. "He's a hard worker," he croaks, unintentionally. He clears his throat. "Though he's not the brightest person in the world, he has a lot of passion for what he does and wants to be able to do well."

Jongho nods, smiling. "He's a lot like that on the field too. I can't wait until basketball season starts so we can watch his games. He's so good at everything!"

"Probably not as strong as you, though," Yeosang says jokingly. "That's why you two do different sports. You do the strength part, he does the agility."

"Still, whenever I get to see him practice, it's like... he's so _into _it, you know? Like it's the only thing on his mind."

Yeosang can only imagine what it would be like for Yunho if his athletics were stripped from him due to low grades. He knows that's a thing that happens, and he wonders if the only reason why Yunho is actually passing is because he knows he needs to work hard enough in academics in order to play. Though he's passing, he's _barely _passing, and Yeosang just wants more than that for him.

It's why he needs to help Yunho do well on this project. He just wishes Yunho was capable of doing it on his own.

"But, um, hyung," Jongho says, his voice suddenly hushing, "I saw him the other day... and it looked like he got punched in the face or something. Did you see it?"

_How could I not?_

Yeosang nods. "Yeah, I did."

"I asked my teammates what happened," Jongho says, "and apparently he got into a fight with some guy who was harassing his younger brother."

For some reason, Yeosang highly doubts that, even though it's a pretty reasonable story. It just doesn't entirely make sense, how Yunho managed to come in one day with a bruise near his eye and then the next day hunched over in discomfort. He wonders if Jongho had seen _that, _rather than just what was visible.

"I see," Yeosang acknowledges, rather than asking any further questions that Jongho would probably come up with his own answers to.

He just wonders _who _was harassing his _younger _brother, and how in the world someone like Yunho managed to take a pretty decent beating from someone who is presumably younger than him. Unless, of course, that person isn't younger.

Yeosang shudders at the possibility, but he shoves it away, just like he does all the time.

"I'm just glad that whoever punched him missed his eye. That wouldn't have been good for the team if one of their best players couldn't see out of one eye," Jongho says.

Yeosang wonders if that was done on purpose. It could go either way, he thinks, especially if this person _knew _that Yunho needs his sight. He has a feeling that this wasn't just "some guy."

"Yeah," Yeosang agrees.

That's all he ever does, he realizes. He agrees. But this time, it's Jongho. He has to.

"Hyung," Jongho says, "do you want to watch the sunrise with me tomorrow morning?"

Yeosang is torn. On one hand, he misses Jongho and his weird adoration for sunrises. On the other, he knows that seeing the sunrise will just remind him of a new day and what that new day symbolizes, what it means for people like Yunho, Mingi, San, and Wooyoung. He never knew that something so beautiful could mean something so harrowing at the same time. Behind the pastel-stained sky lies all of the heartbreaking possibilities for the present and the future, things that Yeosang never imagined he would experience so tremendously. Though it might not be firsthand, he feels like it hurts just the same.

His heart aches for his friends. For some odd reason, it aches for Jongho the most. He worries that one day, Jongho will discover all of the tragedies of the people who surround them, that his positive outlook on sunrises and the world in general will crumble, leaving another shell of a person in its wake.

In other words, he doesn't want Jongho to end up like him.

He says yes.

-

When Yeosang returns home, he checks his phone, and unsurprisingly, there are no messages. It's late in the afternoon, and his parents haven't called him like they said they would.

Yeosang isn't at all surprised, and he thinks he doesn't mind.

He sighs as he walks up the stairs with heavy legs back to his bedroom, where he throws his phone on the bed and plops down into his desk chair. With nothing else on his mind but Jongho, he opens his laptop and types away at the remainder of his homework. It's second nature at this point.

The day flies by. Yeosang doesn't receive a single message.

By the end of the day, his retinas hurt, his homework is more than completed, and his stomach is empty again. He doesn't bother filling it.

When he tucks himself into bed, he sets an alarm for six AM. If it doesn't wake him up, then Jongho's incessant knocking will.

-

Yeosang isn't surprised when he's awakened by knocking, but he is surprised when he notices that it's barely light outside and that the clock is barely past five.

Groaning, he pushes the blankets off of him and slugs down the stairs, opening the door to a smiley Jongho. "Good morning, hyung!"

"Jongho, it is _five in the morning. _The sun doesn't rise for, what, two more hours?" Yeosang gripes, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"What can I say, I missed you, hyung!" Jongho says cheerfully, practically bouncing inside the house without an invitation. Yeosang doesn't mind. In fact, he'd probably laugh if it weren't for the fact he's literally half asleep.

His stomach grumbles quite audibly. "Did you eat?" Jongho asks.

"Isn't it obvious?" Yeosang quips back.

Jongho frowns, not finding it amusing. "I meant dinner last night."

"Oh." Yeosang shakes his head. "I did a lot of homework last night and was too tired to eat."

Jongho's frown seems to deepen. "Hyung, you always say that. That you're working, not sleeping. I'm really worried about you, you know. Are you sure everything's okay?"

At this point, Yeosang is tired of Jongho being so clueless. It's so tiring having to tell Jongho every time he asks that he's okay, that he's just been caught up in a lot of homework and is really stressed. It's such a routine, but Yeosang keeps doing it, hoping that one day, Jongho will get struck by a meteor of realization and finally figure out that no, things aren't okay.

At the same time, Yeosang hopes that will never happen, because Jongho's world would crumble.

Yeosang nods, his head feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds, as his eyes continue to droop. Jongho sighs, grabbing him by the wrist and leading him somewhere. "I'm sorry for waking you up, hyung," he says, sitting Yeosang down on the sofa. "Here, get some more sleep. I'll wake you up when it's closer to sunrise and then we'll go, okay?'

"Okay," Yeosang mumbles sleepily, head lolling to the side as he falls asleep once again.

-

_"Hyung, is everything okay?" Jongho asks as the salty ocean breeze floods their ears. It's hard to hear him._

_"No," Yeosang replies. "Nothing is okay."_

_They're standing on the bridge, arms resting on the railing. They're both leaning forward slightly, their bodies bent so their upper halves are directly above the ocean. Yeosang thinks if he tips over just a little bit more, he'd be plummeting straight down into the vast open sea, and his problems would be no more._

_"Why?' Jongho questions, his voice small._

_"There's so much pain, Jongho," Yeosang tells him. "The world is fucked up."_

_He can hear the sound of water dripping somewhere. The breeze suddenly calms, leaving nothing but the sound of dripping water._

_Drip. Drop._

_Yeosang glances down. The sea is tranquil, unbothered by any waves or boats. Completely still, flat. It's unnerving for some reason. It's not how it's supposed to be. The sea is always supposed to sway with the wind._

_There is no wind._

_"How?" Jongho asks. "How is the world fucked up?"_

_Yeosang swallows nothing. Not even a dry lump. There's no sun in the sky, yet the sky shines a brilliant cerulean, with the sea just a slightly darker hue. "Terrible things happen to good people," he says._

_"But Yeosang," Jongho says, voice quivering, "you're a good person."_

_Drip. Drop._

_"No, Jongho," Yeosang says, "I'm not."_

_"Then why are so many terrible things happening to you?"_

_"It's not me. It's them."_

_"But you're not sleeping. You're not eating. You're so tired, I can see it." Jongho's voice begins to rise, but starts to crack as well. "You think I can't see anything, Yeosang, but I'm not fucking blind! I'm not some clueless kid that you can protect all the time! I don't need protecting!"_

_"You don't understand, Jongho!" Yeosang argues, his voice sounding like white noise in his own head._

_Drip. Drop._

_"What?" Jongho's voice drops back down. "What don't I understand?"_

_Drip. Drop. Crash._

_The sea stirs beneath them._

_"I need... I need you to—"_

_Yeosang doesn't expect the bridge to collapse underneath him. A hole opens up under his feet, sending him who-knows-how far down, down into a swirling whirlpool of the merciless sea. It swallows him whole, yet through all the crashing, all of the water filling up his ears, he can still hear the sound of water splashing._

_Not once does he scream. He lets it happen; he lets the ocean take his body into the unknown, where nothing but uncertainty lies, and maybe this is what he wanted all along. A dark, endless void where nothing exists, no pain, suffering, or tragedy. He can't be hurt, and no one else can either._

_He hears a sob, but it doesn't come from him. He doesn't try to figure out who it is. He's tired._

_He lets the ocean devour him and all his barrings, and it's only a matter of time before he realizes that though he may not exist anymore, his friends still do, and they're still suffering._

_He screams._

-

"Hyung."

The water feels like it's flushing from Yeosang's ears as the familiar voice seeps into them.

"Hyung, wake up!"

Yeosang's eyes fly open, realizing that his lungs are working and his ears are open and functioning. He inhales sharply, feeling the oxygen return to his body. "Hyung, are you okay? You were really thrashing around in your sleep. Was it a nightmare?" Jongho asks.

The sun still isn't up, but the house is definitely a little lighter than it was before Yeosang fell asleep. "Y-Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?"

Yeosang takes a few breaths, suddenly grateful that he's not currently being eaten alive by an enormous body of water, and shakes his head. "It's okay, really. I'm fine now."

He isn't.

Jongho sighs, leaning back into the sofa. A look of dejection crosses his face as he pouts, something that he tends to do a lot. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

Yeosang feels a sting of guilt in his gut. He _does _know. He _can _talk to Jongho, but he doesn't _want _to. Not when he can look at Jongho and still see innocence that shines just as bright as the sunrises he loves so much, if not brighter. He wants it to remain there forever, or for as long as Yeosang can help it. He nods though, not wanting to hurt Jongho's feelings, but the younger still looks unconvinced.

However, just as he always does, Jongho leaves it alone. He sighs again. "Well, okay. The sun is going to rise soon, so we should get to the park." He stands up, bouncing slightly on his feet as he does, and holds his hand out for Yeosang to take. Yeosang takes it.

It's warm.

-

Yeosang just hopes that Jongho won't bring him along to his sunrise-watching once the winter hits, or he's pretty sure he'd hate watching sunrises for the rest of his life. The bitter cold is making Yeosang regret saying yes to Jongho. It's relentless, coupled by a fierce wind this time, and it blows his hair in wild directions that will definitely require fixing later. His entire face is numb and his ears feel like they're going to fall off.

All for a fucking sunrise.

"Jongho," Yeosang says, stopping in his tracks, "is it really worth it? I'm fucking freezing."

Jongho takes a couple more steps before stopping as well. They haven't traveled _too _far, and they're not that close to the park yet. There's still enough time to head back before Yeosang thinks his legs might give out from the cold pick-axing away at his skin. Jongho turns around, a sympathetic smile on his face. "You can go back if you want, hyung. I'm gonna keep going."

"Jongho—"

"Really, hyung," Jongho says. "It's okay. You had a rough night. I'm sorry for being... intrusive."

He smiles, pink gums and all, but there's defeat in his eyes. It makes Yeosang think of San. Wooyoung. Yunho. Those who smile despite the obvious pain and dejection, the tragedy and the abhorrent decisions of the universe, and Yeosang thinks to himself, _it's because of me._

He doesn't want to play the role of the universe or God or whatever driving force there is out there that makes good people have terrible lives, but Jongho is here, obviously hurt, but still smiling, just like the rest. He could just _tell him, _that he's been so tired lately because all he can do is stay silent with all these secrets locked in his brain, that they're so _loud _that even though he does sleep, it's a troubled slumber filled with nightmares and endless possibilities of _everything fucking up. _He could just tell Jongho everything that's been bothering him, get all of it out of his system, but he won't.

Not now, probably not ever, because Yeosang wants Jongho to live as joyfully as he can.

"Jongho, I'm sorry," Yeosang says because he can't say anything else.

"It's okay." _It's not. _"I know you're tired, hyung. Just go home and rest more. I'll see you tomorrow before school, yeah?"

Yeosang nods hesitantly, his face suddenly heating up. It stings. "Okay."

The corners of Jongho's mouth curve up into a tiny smile before he leaves, headed for the park to watch another day begin, and Yeosang can't help but wonder how Jongho would feel if the sun never rose again.

-

Yeosang awakens again at noon to his phone going off with incoming messages from Yunho. He'd almost forgot that they'd agreed to meet at his house so Yunho could finish his half of the project. He thinks that maybe it's a good thing, that it'll help distract him from the image of Jongho's defeated expression from earlier that morning.

When Yunho arrives, Yeosang is glad to see that the bruise on his face has begun to fade. He greets Yeosang with a wide smile, seemingly brighter than the sun, and Yeosang finds himself smiling too, his chest fluttering with warmth.

It's rejuvenating, being in Yunho's presence, and as Yeosang helps Yunho with the rest of his essay, he's thoroughly impressed by Yunho's abilities. Yeosang sits back and lets Yunho write, only interjecting when Yunho has a question, but other than that, Yunho completes a rough draft of his essay all by himself. Yeosang is proud, and he hopes Yunho is too.

Yunho deserves it.

And when Yeosang reads over Yunho's work, he's even more impressed. As he marks up Yunho's paper, the athlete watches apprehensively, his fingertips pushed past his lips as he bites his nails, but Yeosang only makes nine revision suggestions, which, in Yunho's case, is quite remarkable.

"This is actually really good, Yunho," Yeosang tells him with a satisfied smile. "If the teacher doesn't give you at least a B, I'll personally file a complaint against her."

Yunho laughs, even warmer than his smile. His eyes crinkle as he gazes down at his work, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you, Yeosang. I'm really glad to hear it."

"Really, Yunho," Yeosang says. "You worked really hard, and with the revisions, I'm sure you can get at least a B on this project."

"I'm really surprised that I was able to finish it here," Yunho admits. "Maybe it was because I knew you were here to help me."

"Oh, don't say that," Yeosang says, flattered. "You could've totally done it on your own."

As soon as the sentence slips out, he doesn't know how true it actually is, but Yunho seems grateful nonetheless. "Probably not," Yunho says, though he still smiles. "I have a really hard time focusing at home. It's hard to get a lot of work done, which is why I'm doing so shit in school."

"Why is it hard to focus?" Yeosang asks.

"Just a lot of distractions," Yunho says, shrugging.

Yeosang wonders what those distractions are, though he has an unsettling idea of what they are. His eyes flit to the bruise, now a fading purple-green, and although it's getting better, Yeosang knows that the appearance of it is the only thing that is. He knows that beneath it, there's something more than just someone who tried to pick a fight with his younger brother.

"Um, Yeosang?" Yunho says curiously. "I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something. It's kind of unrelated to school, but I don't know, maybe you could offer some advice."

"I can try," Yeosang replies, a sudden uneasy feeling rising in his stomach.

Yunho bites his lip, swallowing nervously as he glances down at his feet. Yeosang keeps his eyes on his face, though he doesn't look up once. "What would you do if you knew someone was doing something bad, but that person doesn't know that you know about what they're doing?"

It takes a moment for Yeosang to take the question apart, but when he does, he can't help the immediate wrenching in his chest. It's physically preventing him from answering Yunho's question, leaving him tongue-tied and throat dry and stomach feeling like it could sink at any moment. An uncomfortable heat crawls up his spine, making his cheeks burn. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, attempting to relieve some of it, but to no avail.

"I know it's kind of a... weird question. Might be a bit confusing and vague too," Yunho says, adding a tiny chuckle at the end of his sentence, which, Yeosang thinks is one of the worst ways someone could try to hide a struggle.

_For some reason, adding a laugh at the end of a concerning statement makes it less serious, but in reality, it doesn't. It just makes it easier to talk about._

Yeosang thinks of Mingi.

"I mean, to give you some context, I have a friend, and he... well, he's going through a tough time. And he's doing stuff behind my back that I know about, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't know that I know what he's doing. I wanna help him, y'know? I just don't know how to go about it. Like, I'm afraid of doing the wrong thing." Yunho finally glances up, and somehow, the bruise looks worse.

Yeosang thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. He's still imagining Mingi as he stares at Yunho's bruise.

_Why?_

"I..." Yeosang starts, though his voice gets caught in his throat.

Yunho chuckles again, shaking his head. "Never mind. I know, it was weird of me to ask—"

"No," Yeosang interrupts sharply, "it's not weird. I just... I kinda know what you mean. Like, it's not really a _friend _of mine, but I also know... about someone. And that they're doing bad things. I just don't know if anybody else knows."

"Ah." Yunho nods in understanding. "So you're kind of in the same position as I am, I guess."

"Yeah." It's Yeosang's turn to look down at his feet, almost feeling ashamed that he is definitely in no position to help Yunho when he can't even help himself or the people around him. It's almost pathetic, Yeosang thinks, how he's managed to draw so many parallels between these situations, yet can't come up with any solutions that would benefit anybody.

He doesn't want to. He just wants it to end. He wants things to get better, all while knowing very well that they won't.

It's in Mingi. It's in Wooyoung. He's holding it all to himself, _against _himself.

"I just don't know who I would tell, I guess," Yeosang says.

"I get that. Sometimes the social workers at school don't really do much," Yunho sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. "It's just... would you tell the person that you know about what they're doing?"

Yeosang has undoubtedly thought about it, but there's no way to tell how they'd react. For all he knows, they could go on a rampage and never want to interact with him again. They could have a complete mental breakdown at the revelation that someone knows about their adversities in life. They could do much worse things that Yeosang doesn't even want to begin to fathom (though he still thinks of them anyway).

"I don't know," Yeosang says honestly.

Yunho sighs, his fingers locking with themselves as his head drops forward. "I don't know what to do either, Yeosang."

The two sit there in silence, though Yeosang wishes with all of his being that he would stop doing that.

He wants to scream. He wants to tell the whole fucking world that Mingi is making himself bleed, that Wooyoung is purging himself of his meals, that Seonghwa is meeting up with a prostitute, and that Yunho, the boy sitting in front of him, is being beaten up.

_"I know you're getting beaten up."_

_"What?"_

_"I'm not blind or stupid. That bruise, how you looked in pain when you bent over to get your notebook. Someone at home is beating you up, right?"_

"Yeosang," Yunho says, "why is it that we can't really... save people?"

He looks up at Yeosang with eyes as innocent as Jongho's but filled with as much pain as San's. It's a horrific combination that sparks all sorts of conflicting emotions and feelings in Yeosang's gut and mind. It makes Yeosang want to shrivel up into a ball and never face the world again. It makes Yeosang wonder how in the world someone like Yunho could be in such a troubling predicament, when all he can see is purity in those puppy-like eyes and the warmth of a thousand suns in that deceitful smile of his.

"It's like... we know these awful things are happening, yet we feel so powerless to help them," Yunho continues, his voice quivering. "Like, we're all human. Things hurt. And... when you're hurting, it's hard to help other who are hurting as well because we're all just... suffering. It's one big pit of endless suffering."

"Yunho..."

"I'm sorry, Yeosang." Yunho's voice shakes. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's okay." _It's not._

Yunho blinks hard, quickly swiping what Yeosang assumes is a few tears from his face. "I think I should get going," he says, standing from Yeosang's desk chair. "Thank you for helping me out again, Yeosang. I really, really appreciate it."

He smiles. It makes Yeosang's head and heart hurt. Yeosang wants nothing more than for him to keep smiling in the way he did when he first met him, but as time continues on, he worries that the warmth will vanish, that Yunho's smile will become an empty outline, drained of all hope, one that formidably resembles San's.

He tries not to shudder as Yunho shakes his hand and bids him goodbye.

-

Yeosang doesn't receive a single message the rest of the day. His parents don't text him. They don't call him, either.

He orders take-out and eats it in his room to the sound of melancholy tunes playing in the background.

He doesn't do any homework because there isn't any left to do.

He doesn't text Hongjoong or Jongho or Yunho.

When he wakes up the next morning, he has to iron his uniform himself.

When he walks to school, Jongho is nowhere to be found, and Yeosang feels a bit guilty when he realizes he's too tired to care.

-

By the end of history class, Yeosang is pretty sure he's about five chapters ahead. Some may call him an overachiever, but in reality, he's just a huge bundle of secrets and anxieties and the only way he can get out of it (temporarily) is by doing schoolwork.

He doesn't even try to look at Seonghwa, though he notices that the normally boastful student idol is a bit more on the quieter side today.

Walking in between classes is... surreal, for a lack of better words. The students pass by him in blurs, figures and voices blending together in one chaotic vortex of bodies and Yeosang wonders, out of all the people he passes by, who is suffering and who is happy. He wonders if it is possible to suffer and be happy at the same time.

He doesn't really think so.

He doesn't understand why his eyelids feel like they weigh tons despite getting a solid seven hours of sleep. It's actually a really good amount for a student in high school, but the students around him who probably get four or five hours look ten times more lively than him. In a way, he envies their ability to shine through the lack of sleep. Somehow, he wound up being the unlucky one.

At lunch, Yeosang feels like a robot. He chews his food slowly, almost mechanically, and he's pretty sure he looks insane by the way he's staring down at his food and eating it like he's some sort of machine. No one approaches him about it though, and he guesses he's grateful for that. He doesn't particularly want to be bothered today, but then a tall shadow appears looming over him, and he knows it can only be one person.

"Hi," the familiar deep voice greets.

"Hi," Yeosang says back, his voice quiet.

"Can I sit?"

Yeosang gives a slight nod of the head and Mingi sits down across from him, setting down his lunch. "Are you okay, Yeosang?" he asks.

Yeosang shrugs. "Haven't really been sleeping well."

"Yeah, I can kind of tell," Mingi says. He opens his lunchbox and lays the food out in one organized line. Yeosang finds it peculiar. "What's on your mind?"

"A lot," Yeosang replies.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

Yeosang can't bring himself to look at Mingi. He's afraid he'll see sad eyes and cuts on his face. The image of it in his head is gruesome, red lines of thin and thick masking the entirety his perfectly normal face, and Yeosang _knows _that it's not what he's going to see, yet he can't look up, as much as he wants to to let Mingi know that he's not ignoring, that he's paying attention despite feeling like the whole world is on his shoulders, and that he's _there._

Yeosang doesn't _feel there._

"Oh, okay," Mingi says, sounding disappointed.

_"How are you?"_

_"Ah, I've just... been kinda down lately."_

_"I know you're cutting yourself. I know it was you in the shower. Why do you do that to yourself, Mingi?"_

"I hope you feel better." The statement makes Yeosang look up, and Mingi is staring at him with a tiny smile on his cut-free face and gentle eyes. It makes the food in Yeosang's stomach churn.

"Th-thanks," Yeosang says gratuitously, trying to smile back. He doesn't know if he succeeds and averts his eyes once again, turning his attention back to his food.

He's not that hungry anymore. He wishes he could give the rest of it to Wooyoung, even though he knows the stubborn boy wouldn't eat it, but he damn sure wants him to. Come to think of it, Yeosang can't really remember ever seeing Wooyoung eat in the whole time he's known him. Granted, Yeosang rarely ever sees Wooyoung, but he imagines that Wooyoung doesn't eat when he can't see him.

He wonders if he eats around San. He also wonders where Wooyoung is.

"So you know how you asked me to like, keep an eye on San and Wooyoung?"

Speak of the devil.

"Yeah."

"Well," Mingi says hesitantly, "San hasn't been showing up to class. I don't know why, but it's like no one cares, kinda. Like, he just kinda disappeared and people are acting like he was never there in the first place."

As fucked up as it sounds, it doesn't surprise Yeosang at all. He hums in acknowledgement. "And as for Wooyoung, he just kinda... looks like shit, to put it bluntly. He's been really quiet, and I know he usually wears a lot of makeup to cover up his tiredness, but today it looked like he didn't even make an effort to. He came into the classroom and looked like he just crawled out of a grave."

Yeosang imagines he looks the same way. "He's really pale and he just looks really tired," Mingi says.

"I see," Yeosang says, finally deciding that he's done with his meal.

"And no one said anything about it," Mingi adds. "Like with San. I mean, I don't know either of them all that well, but shouldn't both of them raise concern?"

Yeosang agrees, but he knows that here, in this school, where San is the pariah who shows up smelling like smoke and Wooyoung is his loyal partner in crime, no one would ever care about their whereabouts or their struggles. San could be dead and no one would know. Wooyoung could be coming to school looking like a human skeleton and nobody would think to say something. Would people notice? Perhaps. But no one would say anything of importance; they'd just whisper things when he's not around about how he looks like walking death, and, like San, if his body were to give out underneath him, people _still _wouldn't say anything.

The thing is, Yeosang thinks a lot about saying something. He just doesn't, but he knows he really should. He doesn't know what he would say, or who he would say it to.

Mingi sighs. "But if I'm being honest, I don't think I'd say anything. I don't know either of them well enough, and while I don't really wish harm on either of them, they're just kinda... they're troublemakers, aren't they?"

Troublemakers. For some reason, the word sits with Yeosang, but he knows it's wrong. They're not troublemakers. The troublemaker is San's father, accompanied by his compliant mother, who caused nothing but misery and anguish for their troubled son. No, they are not the ones who made trouble. They are the victims of said trouble, the ones who got what nobody deserves.

They get drunk together. San smokes, Wooyoung encourages him. Perhaps this is troublemaker behavior, but Yeosang knows that neither of them _want _this. It's just a way to escape the real trouble.

"I guess," Yeosang ends up saying.

_Stupid._

"San smelled like smoke most of the time. I'm surprised no one busted him for it," Mingi says. "It's almost surprising, how no one seemed to give two shits about him."

_"I mean, you don't seem to give two shits about him either."_

Mingi reels back, a breath visibly getting caught in his chest. "What... I mean, I do! I want them to get help!"

Yeosang quickly glances up at the realization that he'd _said it aloud, _and it's not stopping.

_Stop._

"It's one thing to want someone to get help and another to actually care about someone's well-being."

_Stop. Shut up._

"From what you're telling me, you _know _that these things are happening, but you're just not saying anything."

_Stop being a hypocrite. You and him are no different, so just stop._

"Calling San a troublemaker and using that as a reason as to why you're not going to say anything is shitty. You have _no idea _about half the shit San's been through."

_You might know more than he does, but you can't blame him for being clueless. Shut up._

"Does he smoke? Does he get drunk? Yeah, he does. But that doesn't make him a _troublemaker, _especially when _he's _the one trying to escape the real trouble while everyone else just sits back and watches it happen."

_You're doing the exact same thing. Just shut up._

_Stopstopstopstopstop._

Yeosang buries his head in his hands. "Stop, just stop," he cries quietly to himself.

"Yeosang..."

"I want it to stop."

"Yeosang. Hey." Mingi leans in. "I... I didn't think of it like that. I'm sorry that I said all of that stuff about San. You're right, I don't know anything about him."

Yeosang sniffs. He blinks. He breathes. "Yeosang, please, take some deep breaths for me, okay?"

He breathes again. In and out. He sniffs again. Maybe a few tears fall down. The grip on his head gets stronger, and he doesn't know if it's coming from the inside or the outside. "You're right, Mingi," Yeosang manages, his throat feeling like it's being constricted by barbed wires. "Nobody gives two shits about them."

"You do, don't you?" Mingi asks. He places a light hand on Yeosang's arm. "You wouldn't be so wrecked over them if you didn't."

"I don't know," Yeosang says. "I don't know anything anymore."

He wishes he did. He wishes he knew exactly what to do, how to help the ones who need it most when no one else seems to care. He wonders if he's really the only one out there who cares about these people. He wonders if he really _does _care or if it's just pity.

The ache in his chest speaks otherwise.

"Yeosang, I'm sorry," Mingi says meekly. "Things... things gonna be okay."

Hearing Mingi speak his own words causes an uproar in his chest and a rebellion in his head. Words that he _knows _neither of them believe.

Yeosang shakes his head. "Just... can you leave me alone, please?"

He doesn't once look up, but he imagines Mingi nodding. He imagines Mingi's mouth in a deep frown and eyes filled with hurt. He imagines Mingi looking completely defeated, just as much as Yeosang is feeling right now.

"I-I'm sorry," Mingi squeaks, sounding near tears. "I didn't mean to upset you, Yeosang."

"You didn't," Yeosang says.

_Just stop hurting yourself, would you?_

"I'll... see you in P.E."

"Okay."

Yeosang listens as Mingi packs up his lunch and walks away. He thinks he can hear the crying stranger from the shower stalls, but it sounds a lot like him instead.

-

Yunho doesn't show up to bio, and Yeosang is worried sick.

When he arrives at the gym for P.E., he can't even remember what he did during that class. All he could really focus on was the absence of the comforting presence beside him and the thought of the bruise on Yunho's face expanding.

He can't even remember walking to the gym.

He can feel the piercing gazes of the students in the class, namely the ones he'd called out previously, though nobody says anything. He changes in silence while the other chat among themselves. Mingi changes in one of the toilet stalls as he normally does.

It's all normal.

What's abnormal is that the teacher picks partners as opposed to letting people choose their own, and Mingi gets stuck with the boy Yeosang recognizes as the one who called him irritating for being nice to the poor, athletically inept boy. Yeosang shoots him a warning glare, though the boy doesn't even bother looking back at him. Yeosang can tell he isn't happy being Mingi's partner, and Mingi looks absolutely terrified.

Yeosang spends the whole time glancing worriedly at Mingi and his partner, whose name he still doesn't know because he doesn't care. Mingi is still clumsy, stumbling over his own two feet and long, lanky legs, and with each mishap, Yeosang can see Mingi's partner getting progressively more frustrated.

At one point, Mingi swings his racket and manages to both miss _and_ fall on his bottom. The racket is knocked out of his hand, and his partner is caught between laughing and scowling.

"Dude, come on," he says. "That was right in front of you."

"I'm sorry," Mingi says, his voice small and shoulders shrunken. As he rises to his knees, his shorts ride up on his thighs, and that's when Yeosang sees it. It's there for a split second, but there's no way Yeosang could miss those dark red lines.

A dizziness settles in his head. Black spots form in the sides of his vision as a lightheaded wave of nausea passes through him, and he falters just standing up. His knees give out and he wobbles as the dizziness throws off his balance.

"Hey, are you okay?" his partner calls out as he rushes over to Yeosang's side. He's too late to catch him, though, and Yeosang hits the ground with a hard thud. Luckily, he lands on his arm, though it skids against the gymnasium floor.

"Oh my god!"

"What's going on here?"

"I think he passed out!"

"Someone go get the nurse!"

_"Yeosang!"_

The voices eventually morph into one, but the only distinct voice he hears is Mingi's, crying out his name in panic.

"Don't touch him!"

Yeosang blinks rapidly, but things don't get any clearer. Finding his efforts futile, he closes his eyes completely and lets the world go black.

Though everything is black, everything is still _there, _including the pounding in his head and the ache in his heart as images of harsh red lines invade his brain, turning the blackness into flashes of crimson.

It doesn't stop, and Yeosang doesn't know if it ever will.

-

When Yeosang comes to, there's a bright white light shining right in his eyes and a clashing of echoing voices that makes his head throb. "Yeosang, can you hear me?"

He tries to say "yes," though he's not sure if he succeeds. The voice itself still sounds like a distorted ringing in his ears. He can't even tell if it's male or female. He tries again, though he's pretty sure it comes out as a groan.

He blinks some more. A picture starts to form in front of him, more than just a white light this time. It's a pale blue ceiling, so pale that it might as well just be white. There's a slight pressure on his shoulder that feels like a hand. He breathes. In and out. "That's it, Yeosang. Just breathe in and out for me, okay?" the voice says, beginning to sound clearer. It's female.

The nurse, Yeosang realizes.

"Yeosang, can you tell me what happened?" she asks.

In. Out.

"I don't know," Yeosang mumbles, slurring slightly.

"According to your teacher, you passed out in the middle of class," the nurse tells him. "Did you eat today?"

Yeosang nods. His head feels like a deadweight. "Do you know why you passed out?"

_Red. I saw red._

His eyes squeeze shut. The red is still there. He reopens them. The nurse is in his peripheral. He stares straight up at the pale blue ceiling, but he can still see tiny red dots littered across it. He attempts to shake his head.

"Have you been sleeping okay?" the nurse asks.

_No._

He nods.

"Hm." The nurse's face appears over his as she examines him, probably his eyes. "Do you take any medications? Any drugs?"

"No," Yeosang says aloud, though at this point, he figures he probably should.

"Can you think of any reason as to why you passed out?"

_Mingi is cutting himself._

He attempts to shrug. He's pretty sure he succeeds.

The nurse sighs. "Well, just take it easy for the rest of the day. Can you sit up?"

She places a supportive hand on his back as he hauls himself up. His head still feels like it's been blended to a pulp, but at least he's conscious. He grunts softly as he sits up, resting his head against the wall behind him. "There we go. Here, drink some water." The nurse hands him a small plastic cup of water, which he downs in one gulp. "Your class is over in a few minutes. If you'd like, I can call your parents—"

"They're in Japan," Yeosang says, maybe a little too quickly. It seems to catch the nurse off-guard.

"Ah. Well, you can stay in here until school ends. One of your classmates seemed really worried about you, though. I'd see him before you leave today to let him know you're alright, but that's up to you." The nurse smiles at him.

He doesn't try to smile back.

Mingi is worried about him, but he really shouldn't be. Yeosang is the one who should be worrying about _him _and the lines on his thighs. What's a little dizziness and chest pain compared to enough emotional agony to want to slice into one's skin? Yeosang feels pathetic. He should be stronger than this. Mingi has enough things to deal with; worrying about him shouldn't be one of them.

He wants to see Mingi before he leaves. He really does. He just doesn't know if he's prepared to see his face now that his suspicions have been confirmed, that Mingi _is _hurting himself, and now, it's just another secret stored away in his mind to be left alone and unspoken.

He doesn't want to see Mingi before he leaves. He wants to go home and sleep and never wake up again.

-

Yeosang ends up not seeing Mingi before he leaves.

He manages to convince the nurse he's okay to leave when the ending bell rings, and with a doubtful look, she sends him on his way. With no one to pick him up, he makes the journey home with a drag to his step, head and heart heavy in his body. Everything blurs together again, but nobody passes him by this time. He's alone on the walk home, just him and the cold.

When he enters the house, he kicks off his shoes and promptly collapses on the living room couch. With heavy eyelids, he blinks. He breathes, in and out. The throbbing in his head has turned into a numbness that makes his brain feel like it's made of mush. His limbs are completely limp, but he has no desire to move them anyway. Though he's tired, he doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't really know what he wants.

What he doesn't want is for his phone to go off with a text from Hongjoong, but he replies anyway.

Perhaps Hongjoong is the one person he could see without feeling guilt and seeing things that he doesn't want to see.

-

"Sweetheart, you look like shit."

Yeosang scoffs as he walks through the entrance of Hongjoong's luxurious apartment. "And you must really be feeling like shit if you're coming to me on a Monday night. Don't you have school tomorrow? Oh wait, don't answer that. Of course you do," Hongjoong giggles, shutting the door behind him.

Yeosang plops himself down on Hongjoong's leather sofa, and, like the previous time, Hongjoong pulls out a bottle of red wine from the kitchen cabinet. "I know you said you don't drink, but you look like you could use one."

He sighs. "Fuck it."

Hongjoong smirks as he pulls out two wine glasses, pouring one halfway and the other nearly up to the rim. "Wine is a little gross first thing. But it helps you unwind, which is definitely what you need right about now." He puts the glasses on a tray before pulling out a plate of cubed cheese from the fridge and a package of crackers from another cabinet, placing both on the tray alongside the glasses of wine. "You know, Yeosangie, I may be a hooker, but I do have _some _class."

Yeosang chuckles as Hongjoong makes his way over to the sofa, setting the tray of goodies on the coffee table. "Because wine is gross, you have all of these lovely snacks to wash it away. Just take a sip of wine, and cleanse your palette with some cheese and crackers."

Yeosang nods, holding the half-filled glass up to his nose, giving it a good sniff before taking a small sip. His nose scrunches up at the taste, weirdly bitter and sweet, not pleasant but not terrible either. "You'll feel it in a little while, especially if this is your first time drinking. Wait, have you drunk before?" Hongjoong says before taking a long gulp of his wine.

"Nope," Yeosang answers, grabbing a cracker and biting half of it. The saltiness absorbs the bitter aftertaste of the wine, leaving a neutral palette. "Hm. You were right about the snacks. I feel like I'd need them to be able to drink wine without wanting to throw up."

For once, he doesn't think of Wooyoung at the phrase.

"Getting wine drunk is fun," Hongjoong says. "You don't get shitfaced and don't wake up with a hangover. Well, as long as you don't drink a whole bottle. Or two."

"I don't plan on drinking a whole bottle by myself," Yeosang laughs, taking another sip followed by a cube of cheese. "Have you?"

"'Course I have," Hongjoong says with a grin. "I've done plenty in my twenty years of life, Yeosangie."

"Like what?"

And for once, Yeosang doesn't think about his curiosity taking over.

"Well, let's see. I've drunk, smoked, dabbled in some party drugs, had plenty of sex, obviously," Hongjoong lists, lips pursed in thought. "How detailed do you want me to be?"

Yeosang shrugs. He's beginning to find the wine to be quite comforting now, the bitter aftertaste barely bothering his tongue the more he sips it. It sits well in his stomach, and instead of a pit, it feels like a warm embrace hugging his insides. "Go crazy."

"You must really not be feeling well," Hongjoong says, amused. "Well, what do you want to know? I can't just start from nowhere."

"Craziest thing you've ever done?" Yeosang asks.

Hongjoong chuckles, taking another large gulp of his wine, leaving the glass near empty after just two sips. "Yeosangie, I myself am quite a crazy person. Asking me the craziest thing I've ever done is like... asking a pornstar how many people they've had sex with."

Yeosang bursts out laughing, the wine sending blissful sparks into his head. It's feathery light, a pleasant break from the constant pounding against his skull earlier in the day. "Well, there's a question for you," he says.

"Ah! Clever, Yeosangie," Hongjoong says, swallowing the rest of his wine before popping a cheese cube in his mouth. "Well, considering I'm a prostitute, I'd estimate around three hundred? Maybe four? Don't really know. You lose count after ten, honestly."

Yeosang's eyes widen, his pride feeling a sudden stab in its existence. "Damn, really? I mean... I guess it's not surprising."

"Nope, not in the slightest," Hongjoong agrees, giving a slight nod of the head. "Have you done anything remotely lewd, Sangie?"

Yeosang shakes his head. "Nope. I'm a virgin in every single way." He takes another sip. The aftertaste barely presents itself now.

"You've at least jerked off, right?"

"Well, yeah. I'm a teenage boy," Yeosang jests, flashing a slightly tipsy smile. "Have _you_?"

Hongjoong laughs and throws his head back. "Oh, Yeosang. You're quite cute when you're tipsy."

"Am I tipsy?" Yeosang asks, mindlessly sipping the rest of his wine. "I seriously can't tell."

"That's usually what happens the first time you drink," Hongjoong tells him. "Since you've never done it before, you don't know when it happens or what it feels like. Tell me, are you warm?"

Yeosang presses the back of his hand against his cheek. "Yeah."

"Does your stomach feel warm?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're probably getting there," Hongjoong says. "It's nice, isn't it?"

Yeosang nods, smiling, even though he's pretty sure he's not controlling it. "I think I needed this."

"There are so many problems in the world, and while alcohol doesn't solve any of them, it sure helps with distracting," Hongjoong preaches, finishing the last of his wine. "Care for another glass?"

Yeosang stares at both of their empty glasses. "Why not?"

Hongjoong pours both of their glasses up halfway. "This is going to be your last glass, Yeosang," he says abnormally seriously. "First time drinkers should take it easy. Maybe next time you can have a little more."

"Okay," Yeosang giggles.

Hongjoong smiles and shakes his head again. "Oh, Yeosangie. You're so cute."

"Thanks," Yeosang says, biting into another cracker. "You're not too bad yourself, Joong."

"Oh, and a bit flirty when tipsy too," Hongjoong quips.

"I don't know. Never done it before. Wait, does that make sense?" Yeosang laughs, his eyelids drooping but not from exhaustion this time.

"Yup, definitely your last glass," Hongjoong says, his smile unwavering.

Yeosang finds himself laughing at nothing in between sips, tiny giggles escaping his mouth at random times. Hongjoong just watches him in amusement, leaning back into the armrest of the sofa as he chips away at his own glass.

"Hey, Hongjoong," Yeosang says, "I... um. Ha, never mind."

"What?" Hongjoong asks.

"I don't know. I don't think I was going to say anything."

Hongjoong rolls his eyes, smiling as he leans over and snatches Yeosang's empty glass away. "You've definitely had enough for tonight." He places it down on the coffee table next to the tray of the half-eaten plate of cheese and cracker crumbs.

"Fair enough." He continues to laugh, bringing his hands up to feel his cheeks. "They're so warm."

Hongjoong reaches out with his own hand that is just about as tiny as him. He flattens his palm against Yeosang's cheek. "Yes, they are." Yeosang giggles again. "You're so giggly when you're drunk. It's adorable," Hongjoong says.

"Thank you, Joongie," Yeosang says, his eyes closing as his lips form an unintentionally cute, tight-lipped smile.

Hongjoong's hand slips from his cheek and onto his thigh. "Hey, Hongjoong," he says, "you still never told me about the craziest thing you've ever done."

"I told you, asking me that is like asking a pornstar how many people they've had sex with. If you're going to ask me something, ask me something a little more specific."

"Hm... what about the craziest place you've ever had sex?"

"That's more like it," Hongjoong says. "Well, I once blew a guy in the middle of a club. Nobody really cared." He pauses to think. "Actual sex, though? Probably... in the middle of some train tracks back when I was sixteen."

"Train tracks?" Yeosang exclaims. "What were you doing having sex in the middle of train tracks?"

"We were horny, duh," Hongjoong says with a playful smile. "We were horny, a little high, and a little suicidal. So, we decided to do it in the middle of some train tracks and told each other we wouldn't move if a train came by."

Normally, Yeosang would frown. Normally, Yeosang would feel the stabbing ache in his chest and the blur in his vision. Normally, Yeosang would worry.

He feels none of it.

"A train didn't come by," Hongjoong continues. "When we finished, we were just like, 'Eh, whatever,' and we didn't do it again. It was just kind of a thing."

Yeosang nods.

"What about you, Sangie?" Hongjoong asks. "I know you said you're a virgin, but like, what's one of your wildest fantasies?"

Yeosang's brows knit together as he tries to come up with an answer, only to realize that there isn't one. Though he's masturbated before, he's never had any sort of "fantasy." When he thinks about it, he really only did it out of curiosity, and all the times he did it afterwards was because it had felt good, not because he had any desires.

"I... don't think I have any," Yeosang says.

"What?"

Yeosang shrugs. "I've never really thought about it, I guess."

"So... do you just masturbate to nothing?" Hongjoong asks, his smile disappearing.

"Sometimes, I guess," Yeosang says, his tipsy confidence wavering.

"Do you watch porn?"

"Not really."

"Ah."

Yeosang lets out a tiny chuckle. "Yeah, I guess I don't really think about sex as much as a normal teenage boy does. Does that make me weird?"

"Weird? No. Abnormal and uncommon? I'd say so," Hongjoong says.

"I don't really know what else to say, honestly," Yeosang admits. "I just don't really think about sex that much."

"Why not?" Hongjoong asks curiously, his eyes glinting with something that Yeosang doesn't recognize.

"I don't know," Yeosang says.

Hongjoong hums, his stubby fingers gliding along Yeosang's knee with a gentle touch. "Well, what do you think of sex? Have you ever wanted to try it?"

"Well, I think everyone gets a little curious about at some point. I just don't really go out of my way for it, I guess."

"Have you even had your first kiss yet?"

Yeosang shakes his head. "Oh, sweetie." Hongjoong pouts, his fingers dancing along the fabric of Yeosang's trousers, hesitant touches that send tingles up his spine. Something in him stirs, and he shifts his weight on the couch, his face suddenly much warmer than before. He's suddenly embarrassed in Hongjoong's presence, the epitome of sexual prowess, when all he's ever done is had his dick in his own hand.

"Yeah, embarrassing, I know. I guess nobody really desires me in that way." Yeosang chuckles sheepishly.

"It's a shame, then," Hongjoong sighs. His fingers crawl from one of Yeosang's legs to the next, tip-toeing upwards to his hip. "You're _very _attractive, Yeosang. Girls and guys alike would throw themselves at you if you weren't so... intimidating."

"I'm intimidating?" Yeosang questions.

"Well, you give off this very... mysterious aura, for a lack of better words. I feel like people your age would find it intimidating," Hongjoong says. "But I know you're just one big softie." He pinches his hip. "You never know, though. Some people find that kind of thing to be very sexy."

"You think?"

"Oh, honey, I _know._" Hongjoong nudges closer, his hip touching Yeosang's as he moves his hand back to his thigh. "I always found quieter, more reserved people to be sexy."

"Ah."

Yeosang can hear Hongjoong's breathing as the smaller boy leans his head on his shoulder, his hand still grazing his thigh. "I mean it, Yeosang," he murmurs, hand traveling up Yeosang's leg, creeping up his abdomen and up towards his chest. As his hand passes over his chest and to his neck, his chin, Yeosang realizes what's happening.

His heart rate doubles as he becomes aware of Hongjoong's breath in his ear, his fingers gently caressing his chin. He swallows hard, his face hotter than before. Hongjoong's thumb trace his sharp jawline as the rest of his fingers slide along the top of his neck, a place that Yeosang has never had touched before in such a fashion.

"Anybody would be lucky to have you," Hongjoong says barely above a whisper.

Yeosang feels a shiver sweep through his body as Hongjoong's hand runs back down his chest. "I know you said you don't really have any desires," Hongjoong says, "but do you think you'd mind... with a boy?"

"I—um..."

"It's okay," Hongjoong adds quickly, "if you don't want to. Just tell me if you want me to stop."

Yeosang can feel his head nod slightly, though he's not sure if he told it to. When he feels Hongjoong's lips against his neck, however, his reason flies out the window. Hongjoong's hand falls in between his legs, squeezing his inner thigh as he peppers kisses along his jaw. He lets out a heavy sigh despite his heart racing.

"You smell nice," Hongjoong whispers against his skin.

Yeosang doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't. He lets Hongjoong kiss his neck and jaw, his hand kneading his thigh, and, despite the fabric in the way, he can feel himself getting harder by the second. Hongjoong slips downward, his kisses getting lower and lower as his hands slide up Yeosang's shirt.

"Hongjoong, I—"

"It's okay," the cherry-haired boy says. He pops the button of Yeosang's trousers and hooks his fingers underneath the waistband, tugging on it. "Just let me handle everything."

"O-Okay."

Yeosang lets it happen. He lets himself get lost in the feeling of Hongjoong's tongue pressed against his cock, the warm, wet heat of his mouth surrounding him in a pleasure that he's never known and never thought he would get to experience any time in his high school career. His mind clouds again, this time, with lust and arousal instead of pain, and he imagines that _this _is what euphoria feels like, a bliss that makes him forget everything else, where all he can think about is Hongjoong and his unholy mouth.

When Hongjoong swallows around him, Yeosang swears he can feel his head floating among the clouds.

-

As Yeosang comes down from his high, Hongjoong sighs contently, smiling as he sits back in his previous position. "Was that okay?" he asks.

Yeosang nods, pulling his pants back up and redoing the button. "Yeah, it was... wow."

Hongjoong smiles, but his eyes seem duller than before. Yeosang looks at them, brown, what he assumes to be their actual color. He likes them a lot more like this, natural and chocolate-sweet, bare and vulnerable. It makes him look... human.

"I'm glad you liked it," Hongjoong says, his voice raspy. He clears his throat. "It's been a while since I've given head like that."

"Like what?" Yeosang questions.

"Like... sensually, I guess. With clients, it's usually a lot more fast-paced. Sometimes rough, sometimes _really _rough. It was a nice break from all of that," Hongjoong says, head slumping to the side as he turns to look at Yeosang. "You were great, Sangie."

"Thanks, I guess," Yeosang says. "I mean, I didn't really do anything."

"Oh, Sangie," Hongjoong says, hand coming up to cradle his jaw, "you do a lot more than you think you do."

Yeosang's head is still too hazy to wrap itself around the statement, so he ignores it. Instead, he grabs Hongjoong's wrist, holding his hand in place. He closes his eyes and breathes in, inhaling Hongjoong's citrusy aroma and letting it fill his senses. It calms him. He likes the feeling of Hongjoong's tender hands on his skin. He can't remember the last time he's had anything like it.

"Hongjoong, where did you learn to be so... good at sex?" Yeosang asks out of curiosity.

Hongjoong chuckles, his voice suddenly deepening. "What kind of question is that?"

"I don't know, maybe I'm still kinda drunk." Yeosang thinks so, since his body is still warm and his head is still cloudy.

"Well," Hongjoong starts, "maybe it was the person who taught me everything. The one I lost my virginity to."

"Oh, cool," Yeosang says. "Who was she? Or he?"

"_He_," Hongjoong says, "was my dad's coworker."

A familiar sensation rises in Yeosang's stomach. "Oh."

Hongjoong hums, his hand dropping to wrap around Yeosang's torso. "He taught me everything I know now," he says. "He was good at a lot of things. _And _he taught me quite early on. I think time really helped me in this case. I've had plenty of it to experience."

Yeosang swallows nervously. Though Hongjoong's fingers are gently rubbing his hand, an anxious pit opens up in his stomach, and while it's familiar, it's unexpected at a time like this, where Yeosang is _supposed_ to be feeling post-orgasm bliss.

"Hongjoong, I—"

"It's okay, Yeosang," Hongjoong says, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He looks up at him, brown eyes smudged with makeup. They sparkle so brightly in the sleek, modern lights, but they're so empty, filled with longing for something that Yeosang doesn't know, and he's not sure if Hongjoong knows either.

He thinks of Yunho.

"I'm sorry, Hongjoong," Yeosang mumbles, his throat feeling like it might cave in.

"It's okay, Yeosang. Really."

Yeosang wants to shake his head. He wants to tell Hongjoong that no, it's not okay, that it will _never _be okay, but he can't bring himself to, not when Hongjoong is looking at him with both dazzling and hopeless eyes, deeper than the darkest cave and brighter than a million stars, telling him that _it's okay._

Hongjoong says it's okay. His eyes say it's both okay and not okay at the same time, and Yeosang can't figure out how that could be.

_"You're okay, son."_

His hands and knees sting.

_"It's okay, Yeosang."_

His palm burns.

_"Really, hyung, it's okay."_

Cold bites at his skin.

_"Things are gonna be okay."_

Red.

As he looks into Hongjoong's eyes, full of beautiful, sanguine despair, he finally decides, _no, _things aren't okay, and they never will be.


	5. strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lightning strikes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for suicidal thoughts, vomiting, graphic self-harm, mildly explicit sexual content, and dubious consent

When Yeosang sleeps, it feels like he's being suffocated.

He's so, so tired but so, so restless, tossing and turning with each attempt to close his eyes and just _sleep, _but he can't. It's like he can still feel Hongjoong's mouth everywhere on him. It's dirty. He feels filthy, knowing that same mouth has probably been on countless other people with malicious intentions. His heart aches for Hongjoong, who had his innocence robbed of him at such a young age, and is too positively cynical to care.

Those people never deserved to touch him. His shuts his eyes hard until spots appear in the blackness, just so he can get a night's sleep without waking up with numb, swollen eyes and a tear-stained face.

When he wakes up, he has neither of those things, but his chest feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. The sun is barely pouring into his room now, what with it rising later in the morning with the oncoming winter, but seeing it still makes everything hurt.

Nothing is changing. He wonders if San returned to Hongjoong's place after he left. He sure hopes so.

He wonders if Jongho went to watch the sunrise, even if it was just a fraction of it.

But still, nothing is changing. The sun is still rising. The world is still turning. Everyone around him is still suffering.

When he manages to pull himself out of bed, he realizes he doesn't want to anymore.

-

Yeosang decides that he's done being nosy. Curious, sure. But he doesn't want to find anything out anymore. He wants these secrets to stay far away from him, and if that means being completely clueless and not trying to stick his nose in everybody's business, then so be it. He's done.

When Seonghwa is several minutes late to class and no one bats an eyelash, Yeosang doesn't budge. He wonders why, but that's it. He glances up from his textbook to see his teacher's face buried in a newspaper again. To his left, Seonghwa practically throws himself into his seat. From what Yeosang can see around him, nobody moves. Some look up but look back down. No one questions the panicked look on his face or the visible sweat present on his hairline. No one questions the way Seonghwa grips the edges of his desks like he's preparing for some kind of impact.

Yeosang watches with curiosity. Seonghwa takes deep breaths, but they're ragged. All of his movements are hurried, whipping out his textbook and opening it with a lot more force than is required to open a textbook. He bites his lip, his brows furrowed as he blinks hard. Yeosang glances back up to his teacher. Still nothing.

Why isn't anybody saying anything?

He supposes he's no different, though. He's watching as everything happens, but he's silent just like everyone else. He wonders if the students around him have any sort of compassion or burning curiosity as to why _the_ Park Seonghwa looks like he just came back from running a marathon. To Yeosang, it even looks like he's _exaggerating_ his motions, causing much more of a ruckus than he needs to, and _still, _no one lifts a head.

He swallows his questions and turns his eyes back to his textbook. He's already three chapters ahead, anyway.

When class ends, Seonghwa is the first one out of the room. Nobody chases after him. Nobody follows him with intention of finding out what's wrong. They carry on with their day, like nothing is out of the ordinary. Yeosang is both amazed and horrified at the notion.

Time seems to pass in slow motion as Yeosang makes his way to the restroom. His eyes are struggling to stay open, and even though he's tired, he's not sleepy. He can stay awake, plow through the day, and still get ahead of his studies. But he's _tired, _the kind that sleep doesn't fix, and if it does, it's a neverending one.

Yeosang breathes, but he wants to stop.

When he pushes past the bathroom door, it's a familiar sensation. An unease pools in his stomach as he swallows deeply, grimacing as he stands frozen in place. He stops breathing.

_Just go and do your business, Yeosang. Ignore it._

With one deep inhale through his mouth, he holds his breath as he does his business. He doesn't want to breathe if it means being sent back into a memory that he wants out of his life. He doesn't want to think about Wooyoung vomiting in the stall farthest from him. He doesn't want to think about the possibility of him starving himself.

He doesn't breathe, but he doesn't cover his ears either. The person retches, gasping for breath as his guts empty into the toilet. Yeosang can tell he's trying to be as silent as one can be when they're throwing up, but Yeosang can feel his pain. He's pretty sure the person is crying too, as a desperate, choked sob escapes in between gags. Shutting his eyes, he loses the breath he's holding as he holds back his own sob, his chest feeling like it could burst at any point with how much pressure is built up in his lungs. He takes another breath through his mouth, finishing as quickly as he can just so he can get the fuck out of there, leave the vomiting stranger behind, and never look back.

When he thinks about it, he can't say who it is for sure. It really could have been a stranger, a nameless face that Yeosang doesn't give the time of day to, but his brain points its fingers at Seonghwa for some reason.

He's shaking his head as he makes his way to his next class. Surely he must look insane.

God knows he feels that way.

-

Yeosang stares down at his food in disgust. He doesn't hate the school's food. He doesn't. But his stomach feels like it's holding a year's worth of poison and he's really not in the mood to eat. In the back of his head, he thinks he can hear Jongho telling him, "Eat, hyung. You need to take care of yourself."

He takes a bite. It doesn't go down easily.

But one bite turns into another, and another, and before he knows it, his eyes are wet and his stomach is full.

He hates himself.

"Hey."

It's not a certain deep-voiced individual he's used to seeing at lunch. Instead, it's Wooyoung, his eyes sunken and his uniform swallowing his tiny form. He swears it wasn't that loose before, but he it's nothing surprising.

He hates that he thinks that.

"You alright?" Wooyoung asks, having a seat across him.

Yeosang shrugs, swallowing one last bite of his food. It sinks like a stone, nausea rising in his stomach as the boy who doesn't eat sits across from him so casually. He wants to push the remainder of his meal in Wooyoung's direction, yell at him to just eat and stop making him worry over something that may not even be true, but Yeosang knows, he _knows, _that it is.

"You look like shit," Wooyoung says.

"So do you."

Wooyoung chuckles, fucking _chuckles, _and says, "What else is new?"

They sit there like that, in an awkward silence as unspoken words buzz around in Yeosang's brain, begging to be released. He just wants to ask, "Wooyoung, are you starving yourself? Are you making yourself throw up? Please tell me you aren't. Don't do that to San. Don't. He doesn't deserve that." He doesn't though, of course.

It makes him wonder, what _does _San deserve?

He hears Wooyoung sigh. "I saw San last night."

Yeosang bites his lip, his eyes unwavering. "You did?"

"Yeah. He... he slept over."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

More silence. Yeosang's eyes start to sting, but then he realizes that he isn't blinking. He blinks, but feels little relief. Not when Wooyoung is sitting across from him. "I snuck him into my house," the younger continues. "My room is in the back, and our house is only one floor. He climbed in through my window."

"I see."

"He told me he loves me."

That makes Yeosang look up, but he wishes he didn't as soon as he does. Wooyoung looks so fucking _tired, _more so than him, and it nearly knocks the wind out of him. Mingi was right; it looks as if he's given up on the makeup, his normally golden skin a sickly beige, the bags under his eyes looking more like dark shadows than anything else. It looks almost unnatural, like something out of a movie, like the darkness under his eyes _is _makeup.

It makes Yeosang even more nauseous, thinking about what else Wooyoung could be hiding.

Wooyoung laughs wearily. "I love him too, Yeosang."

Hongjoong's words ring in Yeosang's ears, that San and Wooyoung are going to destroy each other, and he can't help but think that that prophecy is only coming closer to becoming reality. Yeosang doesn't want to believe it, but Wooyoung is looking at him with eyes that are hopelessly in love in the worst possible way, and Yeosang thinks, _this is not what love is._

"When he told me, it just all made sense, like everything fell into place," Wooyoung says, voice sounding like a lovestruck idiot, because that's what he is. He looks up dreamily, head probably deep within the clouds, so far gone that nobody can bring it back down. It's probably off in a different dimension. "I guess... maybe I've always known. I mean, he's the only one who really gets me, you know?"

No, Yeosang doesn't know, nor does he understand or want to try to. He has a feeling that he won't even be able to understand, not when two self-destructive souls are now bound by what they think is love, when in actuality, it's some deranged nonsense manifested by their own self-hatred.

It's the love they want to feel towards themselves, but they will never see it that way.

It's not that ether of them are unlovable. They aren't. But Yeosang doesn't, _can't _understand how they can love each other.

Or, maybe he can. Maybe they're the only ones who will love each other.

It breaks Yeosang's fucking heart.

He wants to tell Wooyoung that San isn't the only one who can understand him. That there are so many others out there who can, who will if he would let them, but then again, Yeosang doesn't really know Wooyoung at all. He can make all the assumptions he want, and boy, does he have them, but he can't erase the possibility that Wooyoung shuts the world out because San is already the world to him.

It's so, so wrong. It makes Yeosang's insides twist in ways he didn't know were possible.

Wooyoung smiles, but it's so empty. There's no substance to it; it's just a hollow, tragic excuse for something that's meant to represent happiness. There is no happiness when Wooyoung smiles. There is nothing at all.

"I really, really love him."

_"No, you fucking don't."_

"It's so weird. I never really thought anybody would love me in that way, you know?"

_"It's not real. Stop kidding yourself. San doesn't love you, and you don't love him."_

"I mean, San just randomly showed up at my window! Said he would risk getting shot by my parents for me." Wooyoung chuckles humorlessly. "So I let him in. My parents didn't catch us, thank god, but... it was a real crazy night. Don't worry, I'll spare you the details."

Yeosang wants to throw up, but it's not because of Wooyoung and San's potential sexcapades. It's the way Wooyoung's eyes light up dangerously just talking about someone so unsteady when both are walking a narrow tightrope with only each other to hold onto. One of them is bound to fall; Yeosang just hopes that they don't bring the other with them.

"Wooyoung—"

"I know what you're gonna say, Yeosang," Wooyoung says. "But don't worry, we'll be okay."

Yeosang doesn't believe him for a second, and telling him not to worry is like telling him to stop breathing, even though Yeosang wishes he could stop doing both.

"Okay."

There's gratitude in Wooyoung's next smile. At least it's something, but it's brought out because Yeosang _lied, _yet again, because if he says what he _really _thinks, Wooyoung would probably hate him. But then again, what difference would it make? Yeosang hates himself enough already. He's compliant, and people like that about him. San thinks he's too good. Yunho thinks he's intelligent. He is neither. He is a rag doll for people to stick their pins and needles into, secrets that they'd rather not hold anymore.

He'll take it if that means they can live a somewhat easier life. Because living with these secrets is easier than facing them.

"I guess my point is... San's okay," Wooyoung says finally.

He isn't, Yeosang thinks, he's just alive.

"Okay."

The corners of Wooyoung's mouth twitch into another sorry excuse for a smile. "I'll see you later, Yeosang. Gotta go do some studying."

As Wooyoung stands, Yeosang's eyes narrow at him. _Studying, my ass._

"Did you eat yet?"

The question slips out before he can even register. "Nah, I'm not that hungry." Wooyoung says it so casually, like it's _normal _for someone not to feel hunger. Like it's _normal _for people to not eat when they're supposed to.

How _not hungry _can Wooyoung be?

In this moment, however, Yeosang can understand. He's not that hungry either. He'd basically forced his food down out of a force of habit, because he's _not Wooyoung, _because he eats like everybody else does.

"See you later, Yeosang."

There's disdain in his tone. It reminds Yeosang of the first time he'd heard Wooyoung say that he _wasn't hungry, _which had only been last week, but the amount of suffering Yeosang has gone through in just one week makes it feel like a year.

Yeosang has to remind himself though, _he's _not the one who's suffering, it's _them. __They're _the ones being hurt, beaten, cut, starved, and betrayed by everyone around them, God, the universe. He shouldn't be the one hurting. He should be okay. He should be breathing like it's not a challenge, sleeping peacefully at night instead of dreaming of blood and bruises and feeling like he's being _drowned, _eating and functioning like a normal human being is supposed to. Yeosang is human. So is everybody else, including _them._

Then why the _hell _aren't they doing all those things?

As he watches Wooyoung walk away, the tears finally fall. They land in the rest of his food, left uneaten. He cries silently to himself, eyes and face wet, sniffling out loud, and still, nobody says a word.

-

Yunho doesn't appear to today's class, either.

Yeosang worries for about two seconds when he remembers that their project is already finished. Sure, it's due tomorrow and so is the presentation, and they're supposed to practice presenting, but it's fine. Yeosang can ace it. He's good at public speaking because he doesn't care what other people think about his voice. He doesn't care what other people _think._

It's when class ends that he really _does _start to worry. Guilt piles on top of that, because _Yunho is absent again today, _he hasn't received a single text from him, and the next time he appears at school, he will have a new bruise added to his collection.

He's barely breathing right when he reaches the gymnasium.

-

The previous day's gym class remains unspoken between Yeosang and Mingi. On one hand, Yeosang is grateful that Mingi doesn't bring it up, but on the other, he wishes that tall, cowardly Mingi would just break through the glass and talk to him about it. Tell him that yes, he's been hurting himself, he was the one in the shower, he'd heard Yeosang's desperate claim, and that he's _not okay._

It also just so happens that today's class is teams that they don't get to choose. As if the gods are against him, Yeosang is assigned the team opposite Mingi.

It's okay, though. Yeosang has to admit that he's kind of relieved. That way, he won't have to think about Mingi talking to him about anything. He won't have to hear about the previous day. He doesn't have to think about Mingi cutting himself or trying to encourage him. It's a nice break.

It's when Yeosang scores a goal that Mingi could have defended when he remembers that _he _is Mingi's break.

He can see Mingi's lips press together in a thin line, his brows knitted together in contempt, whether it's towards Yeosang or himself, Yeosang doesn't know. Probably both. He can see the way his teammates' shoulders sag with disappointment, but he thinks, what else is new? Mingi must be used to it by now. Yeosang knows he sure is, and he's not even on the receiving end. He's not on the giving end, either, because he _knows _Mingi, much better than any of the other students do, but as time goes on, he's starting to feel more and more like he is.

When class ends and everyone disappears into the locker room to change, Mingi goes to the stall like he normally does, Yeosang changes as quickly as his tired limbs allow him to, and he's out the door even before Mingi is, which is unusual.

As he's walking home, he freezes, realizing that _he'd left the locker room before Mingi. Before everyone else._

For Mingi's sake, he hopes Mingi left before everyone else too.

-

Yeosang stares at his computer screen for what feels like a few minutes, but it's actually two hours. When he realizes it, he slams it shut, shoves his fingers into his hair and fights back more tears. He's sick of crying over people who can't even see how much he's hurting for them, and he thinks, it's not like they would care anyway. They have a lot more going on in their lives, and they don't need to worry about some nobody who is just a human garbage disposal of secrets and misfortune.

He's so sick of being that, but he doesn't know what else he could possibly be. A normal, everyday student? There's no way he could be one now. For some reason his life has become some sort of swirling storm of white lies and heartbreaking truths, one that he can't escape now.

No. As long as they continue to suffer, so will he.

_So will he._

Before he knows it, he's standing and wondering how does Mingi find relief in slicing his skin open? How could one possibly find pleasure in seeing themselves bleeding from self-inflicted wounds, when people wince at a tiny paper cut? It boggles his mind. Mingi must really hate himself to do such a thing. Yeosang can't understand.

_So he will try._

Maybe that's all Yeosang wants. To understand. He wants to understand why Wooyoung starves himself, makes himself throw up. He wants to understand why Mingi finds solace in something that destroys his skin. He wants to understand why Hongjoong allows his body to be used and violated by strange people. But Yeosang is already partially doing one of those things, and the other he is experiencing in a much different sense. However, there is one he has never had the pleasure or pain of experiencing, and he wants to understand.

_So he will try. For Mingi._

He finds a razor in his bathroom, one that he's never really had to use since his genetics basically prevent him from growing body hair, so it's blades are just as pristine as when it was first bought. He doesn't even know why his parents bought it for him in the first place.

When he thinks about what he's about to do with it, his chest hurts, and he sends a silent apology to his parents.

He has no idea how to approach this. He doesn't know _how _people cut themselves with a shaving razor, if people just take the handle and slice across instead up and down. He'd imagine it not doing that much damage, since cuts from a shaving accident don't tend to be that deep (right?), but what does he know?

Mingi cuts his thighs, he knows that much.

_So he will, too._

He sits on his bathroom floor and lowers his pants just above his knees, pressing the four blades onto his right thigh, and runs them across his skin. On the surface, it's not that painful. It stings a little, but that's about it. Even getting a paper cut hurts more than what he's doing right now.

Confused, he does it again above the first cuts, applying more pressure, and that's when he feels something. It stings _and _burns this time, his unmarked skin now branded with eight shallow lines, and there isn't even any blood. He tries it again over the first eight, the sting and burn increasing as he layers on the cuts, until his skin is red and raw, and for some odd reason, he feels satisfaction when he sees the first few tiny pools of blood.

He's also terrified.

Looking at his right thigh in comparison to his left, it upsets him. It's unbalanced.

So he does it to his left.

When he's finished, he's left with who-knows-how-many scratch marks on both of his thighs, layered upon each other, a trivial amount of blood, and a strange calmness in his body, almost like he's floating.

He stands up, knees week, and washes the blood away from the razor and his thighs, patting them down with toilet paper. He shoves the blade back into the drawer and pulls his pants back up, the fabric rough against the fresh cuts, making them sting again.

He carries on with the rest of his day, gets ahead on his homework again, and orders takeout.

At nine, he's looking over the presentation for biology tomorrow, and calls Yunho.

"Hello?" Yunho answers in a hushed voice.

"Hey, it's Yeosang. Just wondering how you've been, since you weren't at school today or yesterday."

"Oh, um, yeah. Just haven't been feeling too well. I'll be at school tomorrow, though. We have to present, right?"

"Yeah."

Yunho clears his throat. "I've been practicing here at home, don't worry."

Yeosang doesn't know if he believes him, but time will tell, he supposes. "Okay. See you tomorrow."

"See you."

Yeosang hangs up.

As he lies in bed that night, awaiting his restless sleep, his cuts brushing up against his pajama pants, he realizes what he's done.

He thinks he understands it now. The pleasure, the endorphins and the dopamine, the short period of peace where he finally felt like he could take a breath, and the pain, the guilt, and the itching feeling to feel that pleasure again, even at the cost of his unblemished skin.

-

The morning is particularly cold. Yeosang shoves his hands into the deepest crevices of his pockets and he still feels them numbing. He's surprised, since it's not even that far into autumn, yet nearly all the leaves have fallen and the weather feels much like winter. It makes him worry about San.

To think San had stayed with Wooyoung overnight instead of staying at Hongjoong's, he wonders what San even _does _during the day. Wander the streets? Stay at Hongjoong's place? He remembers Hongjoong telling him that San only stays with him at night, but with the weather, even during the daytime, how can San stand being in the freezing cold when he only has one jacket to his name?

When he reaches the school, he realizes that on the way, he hadn't heard "Hyung, slow down!" or any footsteps, for that matter. Thinking more on it, he hadn't heard any evidence of Jongho trying to catch up to him yesterday morning, either. His fingers tighten around the phone in his pocket as he thinks about how easy it would be to call his friend, tell him that he's sorry for being too tired to watch a sunrise with him, one of the most important things to him, and too exhausted to even _try _to show a single ounce of enthusiasm. He wants to forget about the first smile he's seen from Jongho that spelled sorrow instead of joy, despite his tiny teeth and his adorable gums on full display.

It makes Yeosang's chest hurt and his knuckles go white.

Jongho had smiled just like them. And it had been his fault.

The cuts on his thighs itch as he walks.

-

Seonghwa looks just as bad as Wooyoung.

It boggles Yeosang's mind, how the melanin seemed to almost drain from him overnight. Pale and ghastly, Seonghwa looks a lot smaller than he usually does. He's not his presumptuous self today. He's gripping a pen tightly in his hand, pressing it against a blank page in his notebook until a deep black pool of ink forms underneath it. Meanwhile, other students are either writing, reading, on their phones, or talking among themselves. Normally, Seonghwa would be doing the last, but today, he looks as if he's in his own little world.

Yeosang watches curiously. He swears he can see him shaking.

During the class discussion, Seonghwa doesn't raise his hand once. He keeps his eyes on the teacher, sure, but his pen doesn't move a centimeter, and Yeosang is pretty sure the ink has penetrated at least two pages by now. As his knuckles clench around his pen, his leg bounces up and down apprehensively, which is a new habit Yeosang has never seen before.

When it's time for self-study, Seonghwa excuses himself from the class to use the bathroom, and Yeosang notices how abruptly he stands and how swiftly he moves. The teacher doesn't even look up from his newspaper. This time, Yeosang's head moves with Seonghwa, as opposed to just his eyes, and he sees Seonghwa _run _before he disappears from the frame of the window.

What is so urgent that Seonghwa needs to run?

He doesn't return until two minutes before class ends. And _still, _no one goes up to him, nobody asks him why he looks like he's just crawled out of a thousand-year-old tomb or why he's been so fidgety lately.

When Yeosang sees the blank page, there's an angry black dot that has worn through the paper, and probably the next page under it. It's haunting, almost. A black fucking dot.

What's worse, Seonghwa stops Yeosang before he can leave.

"Yeosang-ah, I need to talk to you." Bewildered, Yeosang doesn't have a chance to respond before Seonghwa is dragging him out of the bathroom by his sleeve, a little roughly, and he even shoves past a couple students. Nobody talks back, but Yeosang thinks someone probably should. "What is your relationship with Hongjoong?"

The question confuses the hell out of Yeosang. Why would Seonghwa care all of a sudden? "Um... why?"

"Just answer me," Seonghwa demands, his breathing quickening and his face reddening.

It scares Yeosang, but probably not in the way Seonghwa intends it to. Seonghwa isn't intimidating him. He's _worrying _him.

"He's a friend of my friend," Yeosang answers.

"Who? The guy you were with at the store that one time?"

"Yeah," Yeosang says.

"How does _he _know Hongjoong?"

Yeosang thinks Seonghwa is crossing a few lines here. He doesn't even _know _San, doesn't know his face or his name, despite the fact that San had been in the same school as him. It makes Yeosang think about what Mingi had said, how _nobody seemed to care about him, _and it suddenly makes sense.

Why would someone as prestigious as Park Seonghwa care about a nobody like Choi San?

But similarly... why is someone as prestigious as Park Seonghwa getting involved with a troubled prostitute?

"No offense, but that's none of your business, Seonghwa," Yeosang says, teeth clenched.

"I'm older than you, aren't I?" Seonghwa spits, his brows furrowed in rage. "Address me as such."

"I'd rather not." Yeosang returns his sneer, too exhausted to care about Seonghwa's weird jealousy.

"What the fuck's your problem?" Seonghwa speaks with a harsh tongue, stepping closer to Yeosang.

Yeosang doesn't budge. He just glares at Seonghwa, body too fatigued to feel any sort of fear. "Well, what's yours?"

The question seems to catch the older off-guard, as he takes a step back and his expression seems to soften. "That's..."

"None of my business? Right. Don't think I don't notice you running in and out of the classroom, looking like you just came back from the dead, or how you're on your phone and probably not paying attention to the lectures. Other people might not notice, but I do. If you have a problem, take it up with someone who gives a shit."

He turns on his heels to walk away, but he feels a rough hand on his shoulder before he can go anywhere. "Yeosang, you don't get it, I—"

"You wanna know my relationship with Hongjoong? If you think I'm taking him up on his... services, then you're wrong. It's not like that at all. You, on the other hand, I don't care _what _your relationship with him is, so don't ask _me _what _mine_ is with him. I could make all the assumptions I want about you and him, but guess what? I don't care. So you can shove it, Seonghwa."

He finally manages to turn around and escape, and Seonghwa doesn't try to stop him this time.

His own words start to replay in his head like a tape on rewind, his "I don't care" ringing like thunder in his brain.

He swallows hard and races to his next class, trying to block out the white noise from those surrounding him and the weight of his own words hovering above him like a ghost.

-

With the cold weather lingering during the daytime, nobody goes to the courtyard for lunch. Yeosang doesn't know why it's the first place he goes to. Maybe it's because he secretly hopes to see Wooyoung for some unknown, twisted reason.

He nibbles away at his lunch at one of the picnic tables, his fingers completely numb, but his conscious too tired to care. He chews slowly. He swallows. He blinks. Breathes. Ignores the way the cold feels like daggers in his lungs. Stares straight ahead at a brick wall.

"Yeosang?"

He swallows. Inhales. Exhales.

"Yeosang, are you okay?"

His gaze at the brick wall breaks. "Hey, earth to Yeosang?" A big hand waves right in front of his face. Across from him sits Yunho.

"Oh. I wasn't expecting to see you out here, Yunho."

"Neither was I. It's a bit chilly, isn't it? Why are you eating out here?"

Glancing down at his food, Yeosang's brows knit together. "I... don't know."

"You don't know." Yunho says it as a sentence rather than a question. Yeosang nods. "Yeosang... are you okay?"

Yeosang shrugs. He looks at Yunho's bruised eye, which has now faded to a greenish pink. "Are you?" he replies.

"Um... yes? I asked you first, though." Yunho looks at him with concern, but Yeosang finds himself wondering how well he can see out of that eye.

Yeosang shrugs again. "I heard from one of my friends you had a... rough day yesterday."

Now _that _catches Yeosang's attention. "What?"

"People were talking about how you passed out during P.E. Heard it from one of my friends," Yunho tells him.

"Is he in my class?"

"No, he said he heard it from someone who is, though. Word spreads fast, I guess. But, like, are you okay? Coming down with something?"

Yeosang doesn't want to entertain him. "Maybe."

"Well, staying out here in the cold isn't going to help. Come on, let's go somewhere." Yunho stands. Yeosang doesn't move.

"I almost forgot you had this lunch period," Yeosang says, remembering when he'd seen him the previous week, kicking around a soccer ball with his friends.

Right. He'd been with Mingi at the time. "Yeah, I'm usually with my teammates in the lunchroom."

Yeosang is surprised he hasn't seen him there before. "Oh."

Yunho sighs, walking back to Yeosang's side of the table and patting him on the shoulder. "Come on, Yeosang. Let's get you out of the cold, yeah?"

Yeosang nods, standing up and picking up the rest of his lunch. He follows Yunho, because _that's all he does, follow, _tossing his lunch away in a garbage can on the way inside, thinking _Wooyoung could've eaten that, _but then he remembers that he wouldn't.

He thinks of the differences between should, would and could. Wooyoung should eat. He could eat. He just wouldn't. He wonders where Wooyoung is, if he's even here to day, if he's skipping again to look after San, or if he's in the bathroom puking his guts up again.

Then he remembers that he doesn't know for _certain _that Wooyoung is doing such a terrible thing. It makes him wonder if that person from yesterday was Wooyoung. Who else gets so sick like that during school? Except Wooyoung is making himself sick. Just from listening, Yeosang can't tell if the stranger was choking on his fingers or was seriously suffering from some indigestion or an infection or something like that. He tries to remember if there was a voice. Anything he could distinguish that would help him identify the vomiting stranger. It could be anybody, yet he can only imagine Wooyoung. Or Seonghwa. Why Seonghwa? Maybe it's because of how jittery and sick Seonghwa had looked—

"—Yeosang."

Why was Seonghwa shaking so much? And why did he care so much about Yeosang's relationship with Hongjoong?

"Hey, Yeosang!" A firm shake on his shoulder makes him blink. Breathe. "Yeosang, are you sure you're okay? Do you need to see the nurse?"

Yeosang shakes his head slowly, his eyes scrutinizing the remnants of the bruise on Yunho's face. He even tilts his head. "Yunho, is your friend doing okay?"

"Wh-what?" Yunho asks, clearly taken aback at his question. "What are you talking about?"

"You told me your friend was doing bad things. Is he doing okay?"

Yunho's lips part slightly, his eyes filling with dread. "Oh... Yeosang."

The cuts on his thighs sizzle. "He's doing alright. Please don't worry about him."

"But that's a lie, right?"

Yeosang is sick of lying. "Because that's all we've been doing, right? Lying?"

"Yeosang..."

_"Someone is beating you, right? It's okay, you don't have to tell me. I cut myself last night. We're all lying to each other."_

His eyes shut tightly, his throat feeling like an invisible hand is clawing at it. Before he knows it, he's falling straight into Yunho, and the athlete is instantly there to catch him. "Yeosang, I'm sorry. Hey, it's gonna be okay." His arms are firm around Yeosang's small body.

Yeosang cries for what feels like the hundredth in the past week, right into Yunho's chest.

_"It's not okay. It's not gonna be okay. Nothing is. Everything is so wrong."_

He's so sick of saying it. He has a feeling Yunho knows, anyway. There's no use in saying something Yunho already knows.

"Yeosang, if you're not feeling well, we don't have to present today. We can ask the teacher if we can do it tomorrow. Or I can do it myself."

Yeosang shakes his head. "N-no, it's fine, Yunho." He pulls away, wiping his nose, face probably red from embarrassment. "We can do it."

"Yeosang, you passed out yesterday, and you just broke down crying. Are you _sure _you want to do the presentation today?"

Yeosang nods as firmly as he can. His head feels like a rock.

Yunho sighs in defeat, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Okay. Just... let me know if things get worse, okay? You have my number. Text me if you decide you don't wanna do the presentation today."

"Okay."

And Yeosang thinks, things will get worse, but Yunho doesn't have to be told that. He already knows. And things that get worse can't be solved by a few sympathetic text messages. And Yeosang knows he has to do the presentation with Yunho today or their grade will probably suffer. He doesn't want that for Yunho. He figures he should probably pull himself together, drag his own body out of the quicksand, get his head back on straight, for Yunho.

_He will try. For Yunho_.

-

The presentation goes off without a hitch. Yeosang is almost surprised.

Yunho gives him a hesitant look as soon as he walks in, but Yeosang had managed to wipe his tears and clean his face, get himself back together for another class period, _for him. _He doesn't hog the presentation, knowing that Yunho needs to do his part. From what Yeosang observes, Yunho _had _been practicing, as he speaks clearly and consciously, like he actually knows about the information at hand. When Yeosang looks at the teacher, she's watching with a pleased smile on her face.

The class gives their applause, and Yunho smiles, the most confident, radiant smile Yeosang has ever seen on him.

He deserves to smile like that every day.

It's like Yeosang can feel the positive energy radiating off of him for the rest of class. He's ecstatic, Yeosang can tell. If he gets a bad grade, he knows he'll be devastated. He doesn't deserve that.

If Yeosang could secure the sun, he'd give it to Yunho.

The teacher announces that the grades will be handed back to them in two days time. Friday. Yeosang hopes she doesn't divorced in that time period. That's not good news for anybody, students or not.

Towards the end of class, when the class is in casual chatter, Yunho still wears his gleaming smile, and turns to Yeosang with it. "Thank you so much, Yeosang. You really helped me a lot. I suck at expressing gratitude, but, like, I'm really grateful. I hope we do well."

"You did amazing, Yunho. You deserve a good grade," Yeosang says. When he tries to smile, it hurts, but he hopes it's passable.

He wonders just how in the world Yunho does it.

But then he notices Yunho's smile falter just a little. "How are you feeling, Yeosang?"

"What?" _Right. _"Oh, um, I'm doing better. Feeling better." He supposes.

"Just remember, text me if you need anything. Even after we're not partners anymore and we go back to being strangers. I have your back."

Yeosang can't remember a single time he's ever heard words close to those. Not even from Jongho. "Thank you, Yunho."

His smile reappears. It makes Yeosang's heart settle down a bit. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Yeosang nods.

The students still pass him in a blur. Their conversations still sound like white noise. But now, his head is filled with images of Yunho's joyful smile, wide and brighter than it normally is, and it makes him wonder if there's a reason for that besides the presentation.

When he reaches the gym, he breathes.

-

Yeosang partners up with Mingi again, but he enters the partnership knowing that it's not going to be the same. He can tell Mingi is worried, especially after the previous day's events, but he's still not saying anything. Yeosang doesn't blame him. If Mingi asks him why he passed out, there's no way he'd be able to tell the truth.

After all, that's all they've been doing. Telling lies.

As they duke it out in badminton, Yeosang's thighs itch even more. He wonders just _how _Mingi does it. He's pretty sure he winces whenever he has to bend over. Meanwhile, Mingi carries on like there aren't any cuts on his thighs.

And Yeosang thinks, he must do it so much that he's used to it.

They don't talk. The most communication they have is telling each other when they're going to serve or what the score is. Yeosang knows it's wrong. Mingi probably deserves an explanation, but he _can't._

_"It's like... we know these awful things are happening, yet we feel so powerless to help them."_

"Yeosang!"

He lands hard on his right side. He hadn't even realized how he'd dived trying to get the birdie, Yunho's words clogging his head, and he hits the floor. The cuts beneath his shorts briefly make contact with the floor, and it makes the fall hurt ten times more when he remembers _he'd done that to himself._

_It was his own fault._

It nearly knocks his breath away. He _definitely _winces as he stands up, the cuts stinging just like the first time as his skin moves. "Are you okay?" Mingi calls out.

Yeosang nods wordlessly, picks up the birdie, and prepares to serve, even though he's not supposed to.

When class ends, the cuts feel like they're on fire. He's the first to disappear into one of the stalls to change, and when he sees them, they don't look as bad as they feel. They're thin, shallow lines, some crusted over with blood, others simply pink, tender flesh.

They don't look as bad as they feel. He thinks that's true for a lot of things.

His shoulders relax. Finally, he scratches them, offering some relief from the itching and burning, but some of the blood peels off under his fingernails, leaving dried blood beneath them. The cuts themselves don't bleed again, but as he looks at the red under his nails, he can't help but feel disgusted with himself.

He imagines Mingi feels the same.

When Mingi enters, Yeosang exits. He leaves the school without looking back, his cuts still searing.

There was no relief after all.

-

Yeosang doesn't do any homework. He knows he's caught up (ahead) on it anyway. Instead, he lies awake on his bed, eyes staring at his ceiling, with his hands flat on his thighs. He just wants them to stop stinging.

He closes his eyes, but doesn't sleep. He doesn't expect to, anyway.

He breathes. The sun begins to set. Yeosang closes his curtains to avoid looking at the sun's harsh rays. He realizes, sunrises and sunsets are some of the most painful things to look at. When the sun is strongest. When the beautiful colors are the most deceiving. Signaling the beginning and end of days, setting a reminder that time goes on, the world still rotates, and people still suffer.

His head begins to pound. He'd left before Mingi _again._

Now, he feels like understands a bit better. Of course, he doesn't know Mingi's exact situation, but he remembers the temporary bliss that came with his skin being sliced open, the satisfaction of seeing his own blood form beads of crimson at the surface, the pleasure of forgetting that the world exists for a solid ten minutes. Though temporary, it was _something. _Something that Yeosang understands and would want again.

Before he knows it, he's standing up, feet carrying him to the bathroom where his razor sits in the drawer.

He shouldn't cut his thighs again. There has to be somewhere else where people won't see. The thighs had been too much. With all the walking, them rubbing against his pants had been really uncomfortable. There has to be another place where people won't see.

He wonders if there are scars anywhere else on Mingi's body. He hadn't seen any on his wrists.

Mingi changes in the stall. So people won't see.

Yeosang strips off his shirt, observing himself in the bathroom mirror. Has he gotten skinnier? He can't tell. Maybe he's always been that scrawny. It's normal for a dork like him to be skinny like that. Not Wooyoung. He wonders if Wooyoung looks like him, or worse. He doesn't think much of his body, never has. He thinks Wooyoung must think _really _poorly of his body if he wants to look like this.

His entire upper body is a clean slate. Not his wrists or forearms. Those are easy to see and in plain sight when he's in gym class. His torso? What if his shirt rides up?

He's curious.

He presses the razor into his right hip (the bone there seems to jut out; has it done that before?) and runs it horizontally across his skin. Similarly to his thighs, they don't bleed at first. He does it again. And again. And he moves on, not even checking the damage. Evens it out, does his left. Slices three or four times, one over the other. When he looks at himself in the mirror again, his hips now red and irritated with shallow cuts, he slowly raises his razor to his arm, just below his shoulder. His T-shirt for gym class doesn't ride up that far, right? And it's just to know what it feels like. He just wants to know what different areas would feel like, _look like, _covered in cuts.

They all sting. All of the rows of cuts, sitting on top of each other, mingling with each other, set Yeosang's skin on fire. But he can finally _breathe._

There are tears sitting in the corners of his eyes, but they don't fall. He _breathes. _In and out. His face is hot, but he feels so free. His skin exposed, red and raw, left and right. Balanced. It's a mess, but a beautiful one.

He repeats the process as he'd done the previous night. Washes his razor. Washes the cuts. Pats them down with toilet paper. He throws on some pajama pants and a T-shirt, the loose fabric barely making contact with the fresh cuts on his arms. It's a much better feeling than the ones on his thighs, but the ones sitting on his hip bones...

They hurt even more than his thighs.

He doesn't know if it's because they're on such thin skin. When did he get so bony there? Has his hip always protruded like that? He can't think straight, not when there's pulsing in his arms and hips, sending blood to the affected areas so they can heal, clot and scar over. The body's natural way of protecting itself. Recovering.

Then why did his body feel so free when he cut into his own skin?

He lays his palms flat on his thighs again. The ones there don't sting as much. Maybe he should cut deeper. Would they sting more? He imagines so. He wonders how deeply Mingi cuts. Probably really deep. Mingi has probably been doing it for a while if he's so used to moving around with them. He wonders if he has cuts on his arms too. If he does, then Yeosang finally has something in common with him.

Guilt creeps up his throat. So _this _is the pain that comes with the pleasure. Coming to terms with the reality, realizing that he'd just _cut his own skin_ for the sake of feeling relief for a few minutes. And it will happen again.

So _this _is Yeosang's retribution.

There aren't even any tears this time. His body must be sick of them. He knows he is.

-

Yeosang's stomach is growling, but he can't bring himself to leave his bed. His eyelids are heavy, so tired, but when he checks the clock, he sees it's only seven. The night is still young, yet the sun has completely disappeared, leaving his room nearly pitch black apart from the red light from his digital alarm clock.

And then his phone. He should really turn the ringer off sometimes.

Still, seeing Hongjoong's name appear on the screen surprises him. He picks up. "Hello?"

"Ah, Yeosangie! How are you?"

"Okay, I guess."

"Hm, well, okay. So, I've got some juicy gossip for you! Wanna come by the shop?"

Yeosang is so exhausted, he can't even feel curious as to what this 'juicy gossip' is. "Not really. I'm so tired."

Hongjoong hums, his tone lowering. "You sound that way, sweetie. Is everything okay? Wait, don't answer that. I know."

Yeosang sighs, cracking the slightest of smiles. Sometimes, he can appreciate Hongjoong's bluntness. "Well, if you don't want to come here, how about I come to you? Are your parents home?"

"No, they're in Japan for the next two weeks," Yeosang says.

"Aha! So I can, then."

"I didn't say that."

"Text me your address, sweetheart. I'll see you there."

Hongjoong hangs up. And just as he said, Yeosang texts him his address. Maybe not the best decision, but Yeosang's head feels like it's going to burst at any moment, so much that his judgement has long gone. It's flown to Japan with his parents.

Yeosang doesn't know how long he lies in bed before there's a knock on his door. He wonders if it's even locked. "It might be unlocked," he calls out, hoping his voice reaches the entrance. He's sure it would, since there aren't any other sounds in his house.

He hears the front door open. Yeosang chuckles to himself. It could be a home invader for all he knows. Has he really given up?

He hears the stairs creak with the person's steps, and sure enough, the door to his room opens. "Dear, why am I blind in here?" Hongjoong scoffs and flips the light switch. Yeosang winces at the sudden brightness, shielding his eyes with his forearm. "Much better. Now, would you care to explain to me why you're lying here like a sack of potatoes in a pitch black house?"

Yeosang squints as his eyes adjust to the new lighting, turning his head to see Hongjoong, completely bare-faced clad in a winter coat, a gray shirt, and some black sweatpants. It's probably the most casual Yeosang has ever seen him look. "You look normal," he blurts.

"Well, isn't that quite the compliment?" Hongjoong smirks, sitting himself down on Yeosang's desk chair and removing his coat, tossing it in the corner. "I don't go around wearing clothes that scream 'I'm a prostitute!' all the time, you know."

Yeosang can't help but smile a bit at that. Hongjoong always knows how to crack a self-deprecating joke, which he oddly appreciates. "Yeosang, would you like to tell me what's wrong?" Hongjoong asks, suddenly serious.

"A lot," Yeosang says simply, his eyes falling back to his ceiling.

"I figured that much," Hongjoong says, standing up. He walks over to Yeosang's bed, sitting down at the edge of it right by Yeosang's side. "But what _specifically _is wrong?"

Yeosang bites his lip as he recalls the day's events, when he thinks of something peculiar. "Hongjoong... what's your relationship with Mars?"

"Mars? Oh, I forgot you knew about him," Hongjoong laughs, his head falling back and his eyes lighting up. "Well, he's a bit of a mystery. He comes in nearly every day, same time."

"Does he... you know..."

"Use my services?" Hongjoong finishes for him, grinning. "Sometimes."

Yeosang raises an eyebrow. "Sometimes?"

"He's a real dashing fellow, what can I say? Having young suitors is a nice break from all the skeezy old men," Hongjoong says, rolling his eyes. "Started maybe a few days after you and Sannie stopped in. Somehow, he found out, and who am I to turn him down? Got high and fucked in the backseat of his car, it's a real fancy one too. He paid me for a lot more than I charged, actually. I was surprised, seeing someone as young as him having so much money."

Right. Hongjoong doesn't know who he is. Still, the fact that Seonghwa is going around spending his parents' money on such things... makes Yeosang's head spin.

"He asked me if I had anything... harder than weed. Said sure I do, but I don't deal. He was persistent, though, offered me more money, and well, he bought some coke from me."

Perhaps that explains the shaking.

"I took him back to the apartment so I could give it to him, and he asked me how to use it. Yeosangie, he'd never done a drug in his _life, _well, besides weed, and he was asking me how to snort coke. How weird is that?"

Very, Yeosang thinks. He remembers Wooyoung mentioning rumors about Seonghwa getting into drugs, though he didn't think anything of it, until now, that is.

"So I showed him. Didn't snort any, but I showed him what to do." Hongjoong laughs incredulously and shakes his head. "He was completely wired for the rest of the night. Fucked me on almost every surface in the apartment, and when we were done, he was very, very out of it. Had to drive him and his fancy car all the way back to his fancy mansion and call myself an Uber just to get back to my place. A pain in the ass, but whatever. He's a good fuck."

It's a lot to take in. Seonghwa, using Hongjoong for sex and drugs, cocaine of all things, which could get him in some _serious _legal trouble. It's a lot, but for some reason, Yeosang isn't surprised. Perhaps he was expecting an explanation such as this after seeing Seonghwa so riled up in class. It all adds up.

And what's more, Yeosang knows more about Seonghwa than Hongjoong does.

"So... he's gay?"

Hongjoong bursts out laughing. "Who the hell knows? Some men who see me have _wives, _Yeosangie. They just want a hole to fuck. Maybe that's what Mr. Mars sees me as, too. Though considering how young he is, maybe he's using me to figure out his sexuality or something."

Yeosang nods. For some reason, that's the thing that surprises him most.

Hongjoong sighs. "He's got a lot of problems, Sangie. He come by the shop asking for coke more than sex. Over the weekend, all he did was fuck me high on coke and then break down afterwards. I think he's got some family issues going on or something."

"You think?"

"Almost positive. Someone that young coming by, buying drugs off of me when I'm not even a dealer, and having a mental breakdown after fucking me? Spells family issues to me. I bet his family is rich and doesn't give a fuck about him."

It makes sense to Yeosang. If it's true, then Hongjoong's got some serious intuition.

"I don't have an endless supply of coke, Yeosang. And I haven't had a client give me any in a long time, so I'm bound to run out of it sooner or later. Mars would be so disappointed." Hongjoong sighs melodramatically, flipping the red hair from his eyes. "In fact, I might run out of it the next time I sell some to him."

"Don't," Yeosang says suddenly.

"Why not?"

"He's... he's not doing well on it."

That wipes the smile off of Hongjoong's face. "Right. You've mentioned before that you know him."

Yeosang bites his lip, his eyes squeezing shut. His mouth opens.

And it spills.

"He's in my history class."

"O-Oh."

"He's my age. He saw me when I was at the store with San, so he knows that I know his identity. Today he pulled me aside and asked me what my relationship was with you and got all up in my face about it. I don't know why."

"I suppose you still don't want to tell me his name," Hongjoong says. "That's fine, if you don't. I don't mind calling him Mars."

"It's just... if I tell you his name, and you say it around him, he'll know it was me who told you."

"I understand." Hongjoong shifts closer to Yeosang.

"He's been really anxious in class lately. It might be the side effects of the cocaine, or something. I don't know how that works, but he's been shaking and spacing out a lot."

Hongjoong shrugs. "I don't do coke that often, but I rarely get like that. I'd imagine he's got some other issues going on that's making him do that. Anxiety, perhaps? Some type of panic disorder?"

"I don't know," Yeosang says. "But it was really weird when he asked me what I was doing with you. He even asked me what your relationship is with San, though he only knew him as 'the guy I was with that one time.'"

"Jealousy. Possessiveness, even." Hongjoong's indifferent tone worries Yeosang for some reason. Hongjoong keeps shifting closer. "Doesn't surprise me. Family issues, someone finally showing him affection. Makes sense he'd get attached, even to someone like me."

"Well what do you think?" Yeosang asks.

Hongjoong leans down so his face is level with Yeosang's, until Yeosang can feel Hongjoong's breath dancing on his skin. It's warm and inviting, and he smells like citrus and cigarette smoke. Yeosang swallows nervously, his cheeks already feeling flushed as the memories of a previous night's affair resurface. "I think... he's got nothing on you, Sangie."

"Hongjoong, I..." He trails off, his words stuck in his throat because _there are none, _and he can feel his cock hardening beneath his pajamas.

"We can do it again, if you'd like," Hongjoong purrs against his lips. "Just say the word."

Yeosang's head blanks. Silently, he nods. "I'm going to need more than that, Yeosang," Hongjoong says unusually seriously, his eyes blazing with lust.

"Okay."

Hongjoong's lips curve as he climbs on top of Yeosang, running his hands along his sides. Kissing along his neck, Hongjoong lowers his hand to cup his growing bulge, giving it a light squeeze. Yeosang bites back a moan, his eyes and lips sealed shut. "You're so good, Yeosang," Hongjoong says as his kisses get lower.

No, Yeosang thinks. He isn't. He doesn't know what Hongjoong means by that, but he knows it's not true in any context.

Yeosang is not good. He's lying in his bed, a prostitute kissing down him and palming him through his pants, making him forget everything for another temporary period of time, and Yeosang wonders to himself, _is this what I've come to?_

_Numbing myself to escape the pain of others, when one of them is the thing that's numbing me right now?_

It makes Yeosang sick to his stomach, but it's as if his limbs are tied down by an invisible force, painful pleasure surging throughout his body. Everything hurts, and everything feels good. His head falls back when he feels Hongjoong's lips on his bare stomach, not realizing he'd lifted up his shirt.

Yeosang winces when Hongjoong finally lowers his pants. He'd almost forgotten.

"Oh."

Yeosang can't bring himself to look at him. "Yeosang, what have you done?"

He breathes. Tries to. Both the pain and pleasure disperse, and Yeosang is left feeling empty. He isn't even sure if this is numbness.

He's not _here._

"Yeosang, please look at me."

Inhale. Exhale. There are tears again. Why? Yeosang thought his body was finally rid of all his tears. After all, he can't even begin to count how many had fallen in the past week. He's empty. He feels nothing, but why are there tears? Has he not been emptied of those yet?

"I'm s-sorry," he hiccups, his voice hushed and his throat closed.

Hongjoong sighs, but it sounds different. Hopeless. That's how it sounds. That's what Yeosang is. Perhaps Hongjoong sees a sliver of it in the form of the scratches on his thighs and hips, the ones on the latter fresher than the former. Red, tender open flesh exposed. Yeosang feels exposed.

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to," Hongjoong says, pulling Yeosang's pants back above his waist. He sighs again, and Yeosang swears he hears him gulp.

"Yeosang, you do realize the weight of your actions, right?"

Yeosang doesn't think he does. Then again, he can't really think. Not when Hongjoong has seen the damage he's done to himself. Two nights prior, his thighs had been pristine. Now, they are flawed with lines of self-hatred.

The weight of his actions. He imagines there aren't any. After all, why would a nobody like him mean anything? Surely his actions mean nothing. There's no weight to them, no substance. All he is is a method of waste, something for people to invest their secrets in, to be _used._

Used. Just like Hongjoong.

His head rocks side to side, maybe shaking his head no. Yeosang doesn't really know anymore. Is this how being used feels like? Empty? Does Hongjoong feel empty? Does Hongjoong _feel_?

He doesn't think he can ever understand Hongjoong.

"I think I should go," Hongjoong says.

"San was with Wooyoung last night," Yeosang blurts suddenly, his mouth flooding with words. He can't help it. He wants to be emptied. If he can't escape the empty feeling, he can at least try to empty himself of the things that make him feel that way. "He told Wooyoung he loves him. Wooyoung said he loves him back, but I don't think he does. Wooyoung doesn't know what love is."

"I don't think any of us do," Hongjoong says as he stands up.

"Hongjoong, you said you had gossip." Yeosang feels like he's speaking at a hundred words a second, his brain racing along with his heart. "What was it?"

"Something to get you to come by the shop. But you didn't, so no, there is no actual gossip," Hongjoong says, and Yeosang feels like an idiot.

Nosy. Stupidly curious. _Stupid stupid stupid._

Why won't this empty feeling go away? His heart is pounding, his brain feeling close to combustion, so _why _is he feeling so fucking empty?

"Mingi is cutting himself."

"Who?"

"Mingi. He's really bad at sports and the other students are really mean to him."

"Yeosang, I don't know who you're talking about and you're not making any sense."

"Yunho is probably getting beaten up by someone at home. His father, probably. Wooyoung is making himself throw up. Seonghwa is having panic attacks in school because of the cocaine—"

"Seonghwa?"

Fuck.

"His name. It's Seonghwa. Park Seonghwa."

And Yeosang finally feels _free._

"He's the son of a rich family. They're really well-known. Seonghwa's really loud and pretentious, acts like he's all that, but he's been acting up a lot recently in history because he's been doing cocaine with you, apparently."

He hears Hongjoong exhale, but his eyes never abandon the ceiling. "So that's the truth," he states in a tone unlike any Yeosang has ever heard from him. "You seem to have a lot of them, Yeosang."

"I know," Yeosang says, his voice cracking. "They hurt so bad."

"I can see that," Hongjoong says. "But you have to remember, Yeosang, they aren't yours."

They aren't _his_? Then whose are they? If they aren't his, _why does he have them? Why is he so empty?_

"I have to go," Hongjoong finally says. Yeosang can hear the shifting of his coat. His footsteps. "Please stop doing that to yourself, Yeosang. Nobody wants that."

Deep down, Yeosang feels like he knows that. He's not sure if he believes it, but he's pretty sure he does. Why _would _anybody want someone to slash their own skin open? As Hongjoong leaves him, Yeosang's eyes close once more.

His cuts are pulsing. Why do they hurt so much? The ones on his hips are new. That makes sense. But the ones on his thighs are hurting now more than ever, and Yeosang can't pinpoint exactly why. He's tired. He just wants to sleep.

He realizes he hasn't been freed or emptied. He's just been remedied for a few minutes, entertained by Hongjoong, only to be like Seonghwa and break down in front of him after being vulnerable. And Hongjoong _left._

His secrets are safe with someone who doesn't care.

When he drifts off to sleep, his stomach is empty and gnawing at the rest of his insides, his head feels like it's not attached to his body, and there's something sticky underneath his fingernails.


	6. pour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rain pours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for vague suicidal thoughts, graphic self-harm, panic attacks, the f-slur is said, a sort of post-traumatic episode regarding yeosang's experience with hongjoong, and a suicide attempt scene with graphic self-harm, overdose, and mentions of vomit. please be safe <3
> 
> (also, the instructions during the attempt scene may not entirely be accurate)

Yeosang hates waking up.

So do a lot of people, of course, especially high school students who have to wake up at the crack of dawn just to endure an eight to ten hour school day which will probably end up getting them nowhere, or at least a decent job. Yeosang is just like the rest of them. He hates the feeling of his eyes cracking open, swollen and crusty, his limbs feeling like they're about to fall off, neck and back straining with the lack of peaceful sleep.

But the thing is, he hates waking up because he doesn't want to do it anymore.

He'd much rather remain asleep, where the world can't rain down on him, where he's subject to his own mind and nothing else, trapped inside his own head where nothing more can plague him and fuel his negative thoughts. Where his life is a nightmare without actually being reality. Where, maybe, he can rest.

Sadly, that isn't reality, and his nightmare lives on when he wakes up.

He has to iron his uniform on his own now that his parents are away. As he's ironing, he wonders where his parents are, what they're doing, and why they never called him.

He washes the dried blood from his thighs. For a moment, he considers bandaging them in case they bleed again and stain his trousers, but he decides against it. Though there are a lot, they are shallow, and probably won't bleed unless he makes them.

He wonders how Mingi gets by.

-

Yeosang's brain somehow manages to stay focused on his lessons despite the burning of his cuts. They itch, but he resists it by honing in on his teacher's words and nothing else, pushing all of his troubles aside so he can learn about ancient history, and he does this despite Seonghwa looking like a corpse beside him.

He thinks Seonghwa looks even worse than Wooyoung, and it hasn't even been that long since Yeosang noticed the change in him. His skin is a lackluster pale in comparison to his previous sun-kissed tone, the bags under his eyes only beginning to poke through, but visible nonetheless. His face sags with exhaustion, eyes lifeless and filled with an emptiness that Yeosang has never seen before. It's terrifying.

And yet, no one says anything.

Yeosang wonders what goes through these other students' heads when they see Seonghwa like this. Do they brush it off completely, thinking he's just having an off-day or maybe coming down with something? Do they choose to ignore it because Seonghwa can be infuriatingly arrogant? Do they even notice? Do they notice, ignore it, and talk about it behind his back?

How cruel do people have to be to ignore the problems that are blatantly displayed in front of them?

But maybe that's why it remains unspoken. Nobody wants to face the possible reality, except in Yeosang's case, he has no choice. He imagines nobody else in this room knows about Seonghwa's drug problem, and if they did, would they care? Would they say anything? Would they snitch and report him? Yeosang imagines the last one, but if no one cares to begin with, why tell authorities and possibly ruin his life?

People care, but they really don't, unless it makes them feel some shred of justice.

As he's reading the next two chapters (despite being two chapters _ahead _already), he can see Seonghwa's leg shaking. It's not making any noise, but it's distracting, to him, at least. He imagines it's distracting to others as well, but for him, it's distracting _and _disturbing, because he knows the reason behind it.

Towards the end of class, he finds himself not worrying if Seonghwa pulls him aside again and demands answers to questions he has no business asking. He's pretty sure he wouldn't even mind if Seonghwa got violent with him for whatever reason. Seonghwa could corner him, shove him up against a locker, beat him until he's black and blue and the cuts on his thighs and hips are bleeding again, and he still wouldn't entertain his questions.

Perhaps he's sick of caring. He feels no justice when he does anyway.

As much as he doesn't want to care, he does.

He carries on, minding his own business. He doesn't spare even a single glance in Seonghwa's direction. If Seonghwa decides to confront him again, he will let him.

He's accepted his fate as a vessel anyway, one where people can dump their troubles, so he can make them his own.

It's a dreadful way to live, but he reminds himself that Hongjoong has been doing this for _years, _and if he can do it, so can Yeosang.

He will try. For Hongjoong.

Seonghwa doesn't do anything of the sort. Yeosang makes it to his next class in one piece, but he doesn't feel any relief. Instead, he feels nothing, indifference, because despite not wanting anything to do with Seonghwa, he doesn't mind if Seonghwa wants to start trouble with him.

He just doesn't mind anymore.

-

Though Yeosang's stomach is empty, he couldn't feel more full. He wonders if this is what Wooyoung feels like, but with him, it's not what he wants.

He wants to eat. He wants to nourish himself, replenish after half of a school day. He can't even remember if he ate breakfast this morning, but if he didn't, it doesn't make a difference. His stomach is heavy yet void of any sustenance.

So he sits in the courtyard, hands clasped together in between his thighs for warmth. He stares down at the picnic table and wonders just where in the hell San is.

He hasn't heard from San in so long. He imagines he isn't doing well at all, though that seems to be everyone at the moment. But with the days growing colder, he can only imagine how San feels, when he's sitting in the middle of the courtyard with a clean coat on, hands warm for the most part, with the opportunity to eat but not taking it.

He shivers suddenly at the thought of San's body being frostbitten to death.

His breath condenses in the cold air. He figures he must look insane, sitting alone outside in the bitter cold, but it's not like anyone is around to see him. And even if they did, they wouldn't really care, much like they wouldn't with anyone else.

Yunho doesn't come to his rescue this time.

When he hears the bell, he slowly drags himself off of the bench, his feet cemented and his limbs frigid, feeling like a walking statue.

He figures being a statue would be much better than this, though.

-

With the project in biology being over and done with, Yeosang expects things to go back to normal, where Yunho doesn't sit with him and basically pretends like he doesn't know him. Maybe Yeosang would prefer it that way, honestly, because maybe then he wouldn't have to think about the possibility of Yunho being abused.

It's hard, though. Especially when Yunho walks in, bags under his eyes, clearly uncomfortable as he sits in his original seat. Yeosang watches him closely, how he winces when he sits, how he shifts numerous times just to get in a position where he isn't physically grimacing. Yeosang wonders just how he can perform like that. Certainly physical activity with bruised ribs must be difficult and almost impossible without collapsing.

Bruised ribs... Yeosang can't even imagine what Yunho must look like under his shirt.

Frowning, Yeosang rips his eyes away from Yunho and turns his attention back to the front, where the teacher begins their next lesson, which Yeosang is already ahead on. Even so, he listens as intently as he did in history to try to distract himself from the way Yunho's face distorted with discomfort.

Yeosang doesn't know how he does it, but he manages.

He's more than just curious at this point. He's fucking worried. Panicking. He's not saying anything. Why isn't he saying anything? Yunho is being hurt by somebody, whereas Mingi and Wooyoung and Seonghwa are doing it to themselves. But they're still in pain. Noticeably. Shouldn't somebody be saying something? _Why isn't he saying anything?_

_Is he really like the rest of them? Allowing these things to happen because it's easier than facing them?_

_Why isn't he saying anything?_

Yeosang doesn't even hear the bell ring. His head moves slightly at the feeling of the person sitting next to him getting up to grab their things. He follows suit, though his movements are much more sluggish, but anyone could see him and think, "Oh, he's just having a bad day. He's probably tired, up all night studying!", and they would be right about two of those things.

He doesn't stay up all night studying because he doesn't _need _to. He's already ahead on everything, and it's not a way of getting ahead in school; it's a method of distraction because for some strange reason, he's able to focus on academics despite everything else going on around him. It's so fucking weird. _He _is fucking weird.

"Yeosang-ah," his teacher says, "may I please speak with you?"

And Yeosang doesn't even feel nervous as he approaches the front of the room while the rest of the students exit the classroom. He glances nervously at Yunho, but only catches a glimpse of his backside while he walks out. "Don't worry, you're not in any trouble," his teachers says, smiling reassuringly. "I wanted to discuss your work with Yunho."

"What is it?" Yeosang asks.

"I saw how hard you two worked on this project," she says, "and I will admit, I was very impressed by his work. I just wanted to say thank you for being so patient and willing to work with him. I know it must have been difficult."

Yeosang tries his best to put on a smile.

_"Then why aren't you thanking _Yunho_ for _his_ hard work?"_

"Oh, um, thank you," Yeosang mumbles, his mouth twitching with his poor attempt at a smile.

Seeing this, his teacher frowns. "Is something the matter?"

"N-No," Yeosang answers. "Just... is he going to get a good grade?"

Her frown instantly turns upside down. "I think he will be very pleased with it."

On his way to the gym, Yeosang can't stop thinking that _Yunho should have heard those words, _not him, because _Yunho _worked hard, _he _was patient with himself, _he _was willing to learn. It was all Yunho. Yeosang just encouraged him despite the bruises and the breakdown, but _he _was the one who put his hard work and effort into the project despite walking around with a bruise on his face that no one seemed to care about.

Why does no one seem to care?

Yeosang likes to think that everyone has their problems, whether they go unspoken or not, but when no one says anything despite the problems being printed _right on their bodies_, it makes it rather hard to believe. He thinks it's quite heartbreaking, how humans seem to care too much, not enough, or not at all.

He wonders which category he falls under.

-

When Yeosang sees Mingi, he decides he wants to try to make things right. Not because Mingi looks sad today. Definitely not because Mingi looks sad today.

"Hey, Mingi," Yeosang greets quietly as he approaches the taller boy, who's stretching off to the side of the gym, alone.

Mingi looks at him with innocent eyes, void of anything resembling spite. He just looks... small. "Y-Yeosang! Oh, um, hi."

"I know things haven't really been... y'know, good with us, I guess," Yeosang says awkwardly. "I just wanna apologize for snapping at you."

Right. That was how it started.

Mingi's mouth drops open. "No, no! Please, Yeosang, don't apologize for that. I get it, you were trying to defend a friend. I'd do the same. But, like... are _you _okay? I've been wanting to ask but I didn't wanna pry or anything."

"Yeah, I'm fine."

It's complete and utter bullshit. Yeosang knows Mingi isn't dumb. Mingi isn't dumb, but he is just like everyone else.

He will not say a word even if the problem is right in front of him.

"Yeosang, I _really _don't mean to pry, but you _do _remember that you literally broke down crying in front of me, right? And then you passed out later that day?"

Yeosang remembers passing out, but he doesn't remember crying.

"I did?"

Mingi frowns, his brows knitting together. "Yeah, you did. It... it really scared me, you know? You looked like you were, um, having a panic attack or something."

A panic attack?

_Is that what it's called?_

"I'm... really worried about you, Yeosang," Mingi admits, but Yeosang can only see irony. How ironic it is that one of the people Yeosang worries about most is worried about _him. _"I guess, I mean, I don't mean to offend you or anything, but it's just not like you. I'd never seen you so upset before."

If only he knew what's hiding beneath his gym shorts.

"If you ever need to talk about stuff, I'll listen."

The irony just keeps multiplying.

"Thanks, Mingi," Yeosang says with a slight nod of the head and a smile that only someone in the most excruciating pain can muster.

Yeosang can see that Mingi tries to smile too. As if Mingi had been expecting him to say something. To tell him the truth. That's all Yeosang wants to do, _tell the truth, _but he realizes that the only truths he can tell _aren't even his. _Hell, he could tell Mingi _his _truth. That he'd been cutting himself in the school locker room. That he has violent red lines on his thighs. That the reason Yeosang had passed out was because he saw them. That he _knows _something is wrong, but he's just like everyone else and not saying anything about it.

Instead, those truths remain with him and Hongjoong, because one is a vessel and the other is free.

They partner up again. Yeosang notices some particularly nasty looks today, most targeted at Mingi. While it's not surprising, it's slightly alarming, as there seem to be more than usual, and they're ten times more venomous than Yeosang remembers. Every time Yeosang happens to see someone looking their way, they're scowling at Mingi, and whenever someone locks eyes with him, they look away. And _Mingi. _He seems to be trying his damn hardest to ignore the vicious stares. He focuses on the game they're playing, and somehow, he plays much better.

In fact, Yeosang is _impressed _by how well Mingi plays when he focuses on the game. His brow creases, small eyes intense and burning with ferocity, his long limbs aiding rather than hindering him, and Yeosang can't help but think, _is this really what he's capable of?_

He hopes his classmates can see _that _instead of the frail, cowardly giant that they know him to be.

By the time class ends, Yeosang's thighs sting, there's sweat on his forehead, he's out of breath, and Mingi is beaming.

"Mingi, you did amazing today," Yeosang pants as they walk into the locker room.

Mingi chuckles. "Thank you, Yeosang. That means a lot, really."

"I'm serious," Yeosang says. "I'd never seen you play like that."

"Trust me, I surprised myself." Mingi picks up his change of clothes and heads towards the stall he normally changes in, Yeosang following close behind.

Because he changes in a stall now too.

"I just really tried to focus on the game, I guess," Mingi says from the other side of the stall.

"Well, whatever you did, it worked."

When Yeosang drops his pants, the cuts on his hips are bleeding. He curses under his breath, wondering just how the _hell _Mingi deals with this. He unrolls a few pieces of toilet paper and dabs at the blood, wincing at the unpleasant texture of it. He tries not to inhale through his teeth.

He wonders how many times Mingi's cuts have been scarred over to the point where he can do this like it's _normal_.

"Yeosang, can I tell you something?" Mingi asks in a hushed voice.

Yeosang stays silent for a few moments, making sure that the others in the locker room are too occupied to care. "What is it?"

"I... they, um," Mingi whispers shakily. "I don't know, Yeosang. When you left the past two days, everyone just kinda... they all just... um..."

Yeosang's heart picks up speed. "They were really bad. I don't know. Just... can you walk home with me? Please?"

The obnoxious chattering of the other students seems to get louder. "You live within walking distance?"

"Yeah, it's not far at all. It's like, a ten minute walk. I walk to school and back, usually."

A ten minute walk? Just where does Mingi live?

Yeosang has never seen Mingi around his neighborhood. It couldn't possibly be near him.

Right?

"I live about ten minutes away too," Yeosang informs him.

"Really?" Mingi asks enthusiastically.

"Y-Yeah. I don't know if it's in the same direction or not, but sure, I'll walk with you."

Mingi lets out a small sigh, in what Yeosang _knows _is relief. "Thank you, Yeosang."

There's _genuine _relief in such a whisper. Yeosang doesn't even know how that works. But he can feel it, with every bone in his body, that Mingi is _relieved _that Yeosang will walk home with him. And despite not knowing exactly what the others have done, he doesn't want to imagine it. He doesn't want to make any assumptions. He's not even _curious _to know what they said, or _did_, to him.

No. Yeosang doesn't want to know. He's pretty, no, _definitely _sure it's better that way.

-

Yeosang and Mingi leave the school without turning back to look at the others. Yeosang doesn't even know if they watched as the two exited the locker room together, feet carrying them as quickly as they could out onto the road. It starts off going in the same direction as Yeosang's house, but about three minutes in, he motions towards a secluded side road to their left, shrouded by drooping tree branches clad with colorful, dying leaves.

"I know, it's in the middle of nowhere," Mingi says.

The road is paved, though not thoroughly. There are a few small houses dotting both sides of the road, but on the way, Yeosang sees no more than ten. Leaves gracefully flutter onto the road, the wind blowing them in all sorts of directions, as if a tornado were to begin. The cold bites away at both of them, and Mingi shoves his gloved hands far into his coat pockets, shoulders tensing.

"Whereabouts do you live, Yeosang?" Mingi asks curiously.

"Oh, back in the other direction. Instead of going down this road, I go straight."

"Oh." Mingi cuts it off there.

Mingi's house is on the left, a small, tender-looking home that also looks slightly worn out, but functional nonetheless. The blue shingles atop the roof are peeling, and the beige panelling of the outer wall is chipping off. There's a sad, neglected garden in the front yard and a barren wreath hung on the front door, which color matches the blue shingles on the roof. There's a car parked in front of the single garage, a black sedan with a jutted-out exhaust pipe.

"Thank you for walking home with me, Yeosang," Mingi says. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Yeosang replies sincerely.

He just hopes Mingi gets through the night.

"It's just... the guys were a lot worse when you weren't there. It always seems to be like that."

"What do you mean?" Yeosang asks, though he has a feeling he already knows.

"After you left, I was still changing in the locker room, and they banged on the door and... just said some really hurtful things."

Yeosang doesn't ask what they said. "I'm sorry, Mingi."

"They just...." Mingi halts, exhaling deeply as he bites his bottom lip. His eyes seem to twitch. "They called me some really awful names. Said I was shit at sports and needed you to defend me." He glances down at their feet as he inhales. Exhales. "Called me a pussy for not being able to kick a soccer ball the right way. Called me a faggot for no apparent reason."

Yeosang's jaw clenches at the cruel slurs, his eyes following Mingi's to their feet. He has to wonder, of all people, why Mingi? When Mingi has done nothing to threaten them in the way that they do him? When Mingi has done nothing but keep to himself, put his own effort into the class despite not excelling, and doesn't say a word when he's met with negativity? Why Mingi?

"They're right," Mingi says, and that's when Yeosang looks up, seeing the taller boy's head still hung, his face not even visible. "I'm too needy. I can't even defend myself against them."

"Mingi—"

"You're a lot stronger than me, Yeosang. You intimidate them," Mingi says, his deep voice sounding nothing like it should. It should be loud. Powerful. His is anything but. "It's like, when you're around, they keep quiet. But without you, I'm helpless."

"Mingi, that's not true."

It is.

"That's bullshit and you know it, Yeosang," Mingi says, suddenly bitter. His head raises slightly, and Yeosang can see him press his plump lips into a thin line. "It's okay. I don't hold anything against you, and I don't expect you to defend me. I just wish I could _do _something, you know?"

_But you can._

Just like _he_ can. He could _say something._

The words don't come out. Yeosang is choking on them, his mouth trapped between wanting to say words of comfort and keeping shut for the sake of Mingi's emotions. It stutters, and Yeosang bites his lip to make it stop.

_Make it stop._

Mingi sighs, but it's not out of relief this time. He's tired, Yeosang can tell. "Thank you for walking home with me, Yeosang. I promise it won't be an everyday thing."

"I-It's okay," Yeosang says. It isn't, though.

"_Mingi-yah_!" a shrill voice calls from inside the house. It makes both of them flinch, though Yeosang can see the way Mingi's entire body tenses.

"Shit, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow, Yeosang."

"Okay, bye, Mingi—"

But before Yeosang can even finish his sentence, Mingi is already bursting through the front door to his house. The sight leaves him confused with a tight knot in his chest, and as he turns on his heels, he swears he can hear incoherent yelling coming from the walls of Mingi's house.

The walk back to his own is colder than before.

-

Yeosang can't help it this time.

A panic attack. The words seem to resonate with him. Is that what this feeling is? How his entire gut seems to cave in on itself, how his chest feels like it's just been shot, how his lips and shoulders tremble with what feels like fear, but isn't exactly? Is _that _what it's called?

A panic attack. The thing that creeps up his throat and renders him speechless besides a few sobs and gasps for breath. The thing that coils up inside him and makes his body feel like it's being crushed beneath a boulder of guilt. The thing that made him pass out in gym class, an event witnessed by many. A panic attack.

_Is that what it's called?_

The thing that has Yeosang curled up against his bathtub, thighs bleeding with a bloody shaving razor in his hand? _Why _isn't it stopping? Why can't he stop shaking?

It doesn't stop. No matter how many times he drags those blades over his bare skin. His cuts get higher as he slashes away at his hips, higher and higher to the sides of his abdomen, the tender flesh seeming to sting much more than at the hips. He's so skinny. When did he become so skinny? Does Wooyoung have scars on his ribs too? Yeosang can't help but wonder. He wonders if San has ever done this to himself. He wonders where the hell San is.

The tears don't stop. They should be stopping by now.

Yeosang sobs into the emptiness of his bathroom, of his _house, _because his parents aren't there, and there's nobody who can hear him. His own cries bounce off the wall, sending them straight back into his own ears, tormenting him, _himself._

Yeosang has lost count by now. His sides are a mess of red lines, some bleeding and some not. They almost seem to throb, two columns of cuts traveling up Yeosang's thighs, curving all the way to the sides of his ribs. They're so fucking _ugly._

_He _is fucking ugly.

He sniffles, feeling absolutely disgusting as he swallows mucus and blinks away the last few tears before the euphoria sets in. The calm. The high he feels once the pain has washed away.

He sniffles again, his fingers, stained with blood, reaching over to grab his phone.

"Yeosangie?"

-

When Hongjoong arrives, Yeosang has cleaned up for the most part. He rinses his razor, tucks it back into its drawer where it will remain until next time. He dabs a wet paper towel over the cluster of cuts on his thighs and sides. He puts on a clean black t-shirt but doesn't even bother with pants. He settles for a loose pair of boxers.

He lies in bed and waits.

And Hongjoong lets himself in, just like he did last time.

There's a sigh as the light switches on. "Yeosang, what is it?" His tone is gentle, but Yeosang swears he is exasperated.

Without saying a word, Yeosang lifts his shirt. Hongjoong doesn't say a word; he just pads over to Yeosang's bedside, seating himself down on it. Yeosang looks up at him, his hair now dyed a navy blue, freshly cut. "Your hair looks nice," he says.

Hongjoong smiles and chuckles, shaking his head. "Yeosang... what do you need from me?"

Yeosang blinks, his eyes returning to his ceiling. "You're the only one who listens."

"Is that what you need me to do? Listen?"

Yeosang nods. "Then I'll listen," Hongjoong says, his hands folding in his lap. "But first, Yeosang, I want to know why you're doing this to yourself."

"It's Mingi," Yeosang says.

"You mentioned his name last night. Who is he?" Hongjoong asks.

"A classmate of mine. He's in my gym class. He's really bad at sports, and the people in the class make fun of him for it. He cuts himself, I saw it. I just wanted to know why, and now I can't stop."

Yeosang breathes. In and out. Somehow, his chest feels lighter.

"It's a nasty habit," Hongjoong agrees with a shrug. "I did it a lot in my high school days."

That makes Yeosang's head turn. "You did?"

Instead of replying, Hongjoong shrugs off his jacket and lowers his shirt just past his collarbone. There, on his chest, are thin, faint lines. At first glance, they're almost invisible. "They're normally covered up by other marks, anyway," Hongjoong says, releasing the fabric of his shirt. "I'd let you see the rest of them, but we haven't gotten that far yet." He winks subtly.

Yeosang glances down at himself, his shirt still ridden up, exposing his fresh cuts. He looks back up at Hongjoong, who continues to smile down at him. "So this Mingi person. He's cutting himself. Do you know why he does it?"

Yeosang shakes his head. "Then, Yeosang, why exactly are _you_ cutting yourself? Besides wanting to know what it felt like. Obviously there's some other reason. Being curious just isn't a reason to start, let alone continue, cutting yourself."

And there's the Hongjoong he knows. Keen as ever.

"It's them, right? These people that you keep talking about? San and Wooyoung? Mingi?" Hongjoong is staring at him expectantly, but Yeosang is pretty damn sure Hongjoong knows everything by now. "There was another name you mentioned last night—"

"Yunho."

"Yes, Yunho. Him too. All of them, their truths," Hongjoong says. Yeosang nods, his eyes completely dry. "Yeosang, I'm sorry for leaving so abruptly last night. I guess... I really wasn't expecting to see you doing that to yourself. It kinda gave me a shock, you know? That someone as good as you feels the need to hurt himself."

Yeosang breathes. "I'm not good."

"Oh, Sangie, you're good. You're _so _good. You just can't see it for whatever reason," Hongjoong says. "You're better than any of us will ever be."

"Us?"

"Those who have lost their way," Hongjoong elaborates cryptically.

Yeosang frowns. Has he lost his way? He's not even sure what Hongjoong means by that. He doesn't _think _he's lost his way, whatever that means. "I feel like you don't know how valuable of a person you are, Yeosang. I mean that."

"I don't feel that way."

"I know. Trust me, I know." Hongjoong scoffs, flipping his freshly-trimmed hair. "But you obviously care about these people. You wouldn't be so heartbroken over them if you didn't."

_Where has he heard that before?_

"You care so much, Yeosang. Too much, in fact, and that will be your downfall."

Is that the case? Is that the category he falls under? Caring too much? Just the other day, he'd told Seonghwa he didn't care. Yet had felt an aching guilt in his chest after he said it. Why did he feel that way? Does he really care too much?

If he cares, _why isn't he saying anything?_

"You need to start putting yourself first, Yeosang. Your life comes before others'."

"I just don't... I don't get it," Yeosang says.

"What don't you get?"

"Why is it so hard to say something?"

"What do you mean?"

"I want to help them," Yeosang says. "I really, really want to help them. They're so obviously hurting, and I... every time I see evidence that they're hurting, I just want to tell them that I _know _they're hurting, and I want to help them, but... I can't. I can't bring myself to say anything."

Hongjoong's hand ascends Yeosang's chest up to the base of his neck, his thumb tracing along his defined collarbone. It makes Yeosang shudder. The skin is so thin there; just _when _did he get so fucking _skinny_? Oddly enough, the exact place Hongjoong is caressing is the same place those scars on himself lie. As if Hongjoong misses the untouched, blemish-free skin. Yeosang imagines he does.

He's still smiling faintly as his thumb rubs circles into Yeosang's skin. "You can't save everybody, Yeosang."

_Where has he heard that before?_

"I know you want to help them, but you can't keep putting this responsibility on yourself. It'll drive you insane," Hongjoong advises, his smile disappearing. "It's not up to you to say anything. I know you want to, but you don't _have _to."

"Then who will?" Yeosang counters, his voice cracking.

"Well, maybe _they _should."

Yeosang closes his eyes. His chest instantly feels the blow, the harsh reality of Hongjoong's statement. "If they _want _help, they should get help themselves."

"I don't think it's that easy," Yeosang mumbles.

Hongjoong sighs, swallowing. "I know. Believe me, I know."

They sit there in silence, Hongjoong's thumb continuing to brush against Yeosang's skin, trailing upwards towards his jaw. Hongjoong is gazing down at him like he's admiring a fine piece of art, which makes Yeosang both uncomfortable and calm at the same time.

Yeosang eventually moves his eyes from his ceiling to Hongjoong's eyes, brown and void of makeup. There are bags underneath them, just like Wooyoung and Seonghwa. San. He hasn't seen San in so long.

"How's San?"

Hongjoong sucks his bottom lip in. "He's... managing."

"Please tell me he's staying at your place during the day."

"He's welcome to, of course. I'm at the shop during the day, so I don't really know if he stays there or not," Hongjoong answers honestly. "I gave him a key, so he can come and go as he pleases. I know it's getting colder, so I told him it's okay if he wants to stay at my place whenever he wants."

"When's the last time you saw him?" Yeosang asks, though he isn't sure if he wants to know.

"Um... last night, when I left here. He was there when I got back."

"How does he look?"

"Well, to put it bluntly, he looks like he just crawled out of a sewer," Hongjoong says. "He's lost a lot of weight. Doesn't really look like his skin has color anymore. I tell him all the time that he can eat whatever I have at my place, that he can use whatever he wants in there, but it's like he just completely ignores it and just sleeps there. I wouldn't be surprised if he _doesn't _stay at my place during the day."

And that's when Yeosang remembers what Wooyoung had told him that one time, that San has too much pride. That it's the one thing San has always owned, the one thing that Wooyoung didn't want to deprive him of. Yeosang wonders if San knows by now that Wooyoung knows about him staying with Hongjoong. He imagines so, since they've seen each other.

"Wooyoung said San has too much pride," Yeosang says, "and that it's the one thing he's always had, and he doesn't want to take that away from him."

"And that's why he doesn't want to eat and stay in a warm place?" Hongjoong questions with an arched eyebrow.

Yeosang nods and shrugs at the same time. Hongjoong rolls his eyes. "That's not pride, that's stubborn stupidity." He inhales sharply through his teeth, jaw clenched as he retracts his hand from Yeosang's face. "San's really trying to kill himself here."

The statement makes Yeosang sit up. "I need to have a talk with that idiotic bastard," Hongjoong mutters, shaking his head.

"What are you talking about?" Yeosang barely forms it as a question.

"And Wooyoung is just as much of an idiot as San is," Hongjoong adds, seemingly ignoring Yeosang's inquiry. "I can't believe he actually lets San do this shit because he thinks it's 'pride.' That's some bullshit if I've ever heard some." His tone is genuinely angry from what Yeosang can tell, and it's scaring him. He's never known Hongjoong to be anything but chirpy and coy, but now here he is, his facial expression turning from one of playfulness to one of contempt, and it's just so unfamiliar that it makes Yeosang's gut twist more than it already has.

"Wooyoung knows that San is staying with you," Yeosang says.

"That's quite obvious by now, I feel," Hongjoong says, brows still furrowed.

"Does San know that Wooyoung knows?"

"I don't know, and I don't care," Hongjoong grits spitefully. "Those two are no fucking good for each other. You know that, right?"

Deep down, Yeosang thinks he knows it. "Wooyoung told me that San went to see him a few nights ago. That San told Wooyoung he loved him, and Wooyoung said he loves him back," he says.

Something in Hongjoong snaps as he stands abruptly. "That fucker. I swear to god, those two are gonna kill each other."

Yeosang's eyes squeeze shut at the mental image of their bodies dead in the ground. Pale, skin and bones, one resembling the other. Deceased in a strange act of murder, where one died at the hands of the other, but when they took each other's lives, they made sure they died together. It makes Yeosang's entire body ache. It's something straight out of a Shakespearean tragedy.

Hongjoong closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he continues to shake his head. "If San is seriously skipping out on meals and a warm place to stay just because he has _pride, _he might as well just not stay at my place."

"Hongjoong—"

"Don't worry, Yeosang," Hongjoong interjects, sighing as he opens his eyes. "I'm not gonna, like, kick San out or anything. It's just, if those two... get into trouble, I'm not taking responsibility for it."

Yeosang feels haunted by that statement, but he doesn't ask about it. Instead, he stares at the ceiling like he always does, ignoring the unnerving feeling settling in his stomach. He seems to be doing that a lot lately.

"I'm sorry, Yeosang," Hongjoong sighs, his voice mysteriously dark in comparison to his usual high-pitched tone. "I... I need to go. I just really need to process all of this."

As the escort turns on his heels to leave, Yeosang never breaks his gaze on his ceiling. He hears Hongjoong grab his coat. "And Yeosang," Hongjoong says.

"Yeah?"

"You should dye your hair someday. I think you'd look really good." Yeosang hears a few more steps. He can see Hongjoong's small form move from the corner of his eye. "And please, stop hurting yourself. I told you, nobody wants that."

And Hongjoong leaves without another word.

Yeosang listens as the front door closes. As small footsteps get farther and farther away until they disappear into the night, and he's left in his room, eyes unmoving, ribs and hips and thighs hurting, _alone, _and he can't help but wonder if Mingi feels this empty.

-

Yeosang's entire body hurts as he walks to school. Upon the cuts are the aches and pains of restless nights, hammering at his bones and muscles as he drags his feet along the pavement. He sniffs, nose red and raw from the cold, eyes tired with sleep. His lips are chapping. When's the last time he applied lip balm? Lotion? He rubs his bare hands together. No surprise, they're dry. He tucks them into his pockets, shrugging his shoulders upwards, hiding the lower half of his face in his turtleneck.

He wonders how Jongho is doing. He imagines the younger must resent him in some way. He knows he would.

The last image Yeosang has of him is the sad gummy smile, coupled with eyes filled with disappointment. Yeosang wonders if Jongho will stop watching the sunrises soon. He has to. It's getting too cold. Then again, it's Jongho, the young, resilient soul who always seems to find some sort of light in the darkest circumstances, and Yeosang only continues to wonder how long that can keep up before the light is snuffed out.

He wants it to be never, but he has a feeling that never is unachievable. At this point, Yeosang thinks it's only a matter of time.

His body hurts even more.

-

Seonghwa is absent from class.

Yeosang focuses on the lesson, finding it slightly easier to pay attention to his teacher's words instead of Seonghwa's ghastly appearance. As he's reading five chapters ahead, he doesn't check his peripheral because Seonghwa _isn't there. _His face doesn't even come to mind.

Suddenly, he wonders, has Seonghwa seen San at Hongjoong's place? Does Seonghwa _know _who San is? Apparently not, since San is still "the guy he was with at the store that one time," but Yeosang finds it quite morbid when he thinks that maybe Seonghwa was too high on coke to notice. He doesn't even know if that's how it _works._

Walking in the halls while his mind is elsewhere is becoming quite routine, Yeosang notices. How everyone seems to pass by in a blur, how all of their voices, male and female alike, blur into one cacophony of sound which almost resembles a thousand humming mosquitoes. It's really annoying. Yeosang wishes it would stop, but he knows it won't.

_It won't stop._

He sits at the end of one of the tables in the lunchroom. He's warm this time around, but he's surrounded by the buzz of those _damn mosquitoes, _so annoying, blood-sucking, useless mosquitoes that don't say a fucking word despite seeing suffering right in front of their hideous eyes.

He tugs at his turtleneck. He swears he can still feel Hongjoong's stubby fingers on his neck, where he'd seen some of Hongjoong's own scars, though apparently those aren't the only ones. He wonders if he means that there are scars in similar places to his, where Yeosang hasn't explored.

And he realizes, Hongjoong has explored all of him. At least, more than anyone else has.

His skin suddenly feels dirty. He scratches his collarbone, though there isn't much to itch since the bone basically protrudes. It hurts a lot more than it should. His blunt nails don't do much to relieve the disgusting feeling from underneath his skin, and he wishes that he could just scrub away at it until it chafes, and maybe, just maybe, he could get rid of the dirtiness, because Hongjoong hasn't touched anywhere underneath him.

How morbid. Hongjoong has not touched beneath his flesh. Has not felt his cuts. Has not had his blood on his hands. Yet he feels so fucking _dirty. _It's like he can feel Hongjoong everywhere on him. He hates it. The mosquitoes make it so much worse.

He thinks he can feel something beneath his fingernails. It's sticky.

"Yeosang?"

His fingers come to a screeching halt.

He looks up, fingers still crooked as his nails dig into his skin, to see a terrified Mingi standing above him. "Yeosang, are you okay?"

Slowly, Yeosang removes his hand from his chest (since when did it get that low?), the collar of his turtleneck rising back into place. He observes his nails. They don't look any different. They're not sticky.

"Y-Yeah."

Mingi still looks terrified. His mouth is slightly parted, brows lowered. "Yeosang... what were you doing?"

"I just had an itch."

"You were itching quite a lot," Mingi says.

Yeosang just shrugs. "Must've irritated it somehow today."

_Where the hell is all of this coming from?_

Mingi is looking at him, expecting him to come right out and say, _"I keep feeling Hongjoong's hands on me and I feel so fucking filthy. I kind of wish my skin would just come off somehow. I'm kind of doing that to myself nowadays anyway. How are you?" _But there's no way Yeosang would ever say that, because just like the rest of them, he doesn't say anything.

Just another blood-sucking mosquito.

Mingi lets out a breath, swinging his leg around the bench and inserting himself across from Yeosang. "Yeosang, _please, _talk to me."

Yeosang doesn't even do so much as _look _at him. "Something's clearly going on, and I'm really worried," Mingi continues, leaning in. "Please, if something is bothering you, let me help."

_"Shouldn't you be helping yourself first?"_

Yeosang shakes his head, though he's not sure if he means to. He bites his lip hard, eyes squeezing shut. It's a familiar feeling now, but it hurts just as much. He hears Mingi sigh.

"I-I'm sorry, Yeosang. I didn't mean to be so intrusive. I just... I'm sorry." Mingi stands, maybe a little too harshly, and hurries off in the opposite direction. Yeosang imagines a few people turning their heads at his sudden exit, but that they also immediately turn back around to continue their blood-sucking.

His stomach feels so full yet so empty. It's one of those things, but when the lunch period ends, Yeosang isn't exactly sure which it is.

He can't remember for the life of him.

-

When Yeosang sees Yunho, it feels as if something inside him breaks.

Yunho has begun to somewhat resemble Wooyoung in the face, eyes bloodshot, bags underneath them, paled complexion. There's the possibility that he didn't get much sleep last night, which is certainly plausible, but Yeosang has a feeling that there's a reason behind that sleepless night, and that reason isn't because he was cranking out last-minute assignments.

After all, Yunho doesn't study, as far as Yeosang knows.

The teacher announces the grades as soon as class begins. She hands back their essays with a little slip attached to them with notes on their presentations, graded on standard criteria. Yeosang glances over his, a solid A, and he feels bad for thinking that he isn't surprised.

He's afraid to look back. Not when he remembers how Yunho looked the previous day, how Yeosang was sure there was, _is, _something hiding beneath his clothes. But he also wants to see Yunho smile, at least, he _hopes _Yunho is smiling while staring down a grade that's above a C plus.

It's all Yeosang can think about during the lesson he's already taught himself. That, and how Yunho's bruise has near completely faded, now just a pink splotch off to the side of his eye. It almost reminds Yeosang of his own birthmark.

The teacher's voice becomes white noise as Yeosang takes the notes being projected onto the board. He writes what he sees, though he feels like he's actually _losing _brain cells just listening to the teacher drone on and on about things he already has drilled into his brain from countless hours of studying.

He doesn't even know if doing schoolwork to avoid the pressures of the world is considered "studying" anymore.

It's a strange experience. Though his ears block out the hum of his teacher's voice, his hand is writing at a hundred miles an hour, copying the words on the board one by one, while his brain thinks of what Yunho is doing behind him, if he's taking notes as well or if he's too busy gawking at his grade. Yeosang's eyes flit up and down from the board to his notebook, and he doesn't even realize that his hand _isn't stopping._

His handwriting is a messy scrawl, but it's not like it matters. To Yeosang, he doesn't even recognize it as his own, but it spells out information he already knows. At least, he thinks it does. He's not even keeping track.

When the lesson finally ends, Yeosang is lightheaded, and the room is spinning slightly. He breathes, in and out, realizing that he's short on breath. _Had he been holding his breath? Breathing too quickly?_

The swirling room eventually evens out the more Yeosang takes deep breaths, and when his eyes finally focus again, he stares down at his notebook to see his notes all smudged and illegible, words that he can't even read, some even having nothing to do with biology.

_Is Yunho okay?... mitochondria... osmosis... uh... I'm sorry, Mingi, I'm so so sorry. The cuts hurt really badly and I think I'm going to cry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_

Yeosang stares in disbelief at the incoherent mess of text in his notebook. _When did he write that?_

He closes his eyes. Drowns out the noise of the mosquitoes. Tries to breathe. It's getting harder to. Breathe. In and out. Shuts his notebook with his eyes still closed. Shakes his head. Thinks of Mingi. How he's sorry. He really, really wishes he could say something. He can't even talk about _himself, _let alone try to tell Mingi that _he knows his truth _and has lived it himself. He has a feeling that if Mingi knew about what he's hiding beneath his clothes, it would break his heart.

Yeosang doesn't think Mingi deserves that.

Then again, neither does Yunho. Or San, or Wooyoung, or Hongjoong, or Seonghwa. None of them do. They don't deserve to feel what Yeosang is feeling, yet he's pretty sure that his pain isn't even _half _of what they're feeling. He's trying to understand. He's trying so hard.

It's killing him. He can only imagine how much it's killing them too.

They don't need more pain. Yeosang can endure his own, for their sake.

He just wishes it would stop altogether.

When Yeosang leaves, Yunho is already gone. On his way to the gym, his knees feel weak, his body feeling like an unsteady tower, and he wonders why his thighs hurt more than usual.

-

It becomes apparent when Yeosang is changing for gym class. His thighs are bleeding again. _When did that happen?_

He lifts his arm to check the ones on his ribs. They still sting, but none of them are bleeding. The dried blood is still there, crusted over, forming short, jagged lines over the cuts. He touches them, immediately retracting his fingers at the feeling of his ribs.

They're poking out. _Since when did that happen?_

Do people lose weight this quickly? Has Yeosang always been this skinny?

He pulls his shirt down and wipes the blood away from his thighs, cringing as he slides his shorts up. His underwear is harsh against his thighs and hips, irritating the sensitive flesh, and all he hopes is that gym class isn't too rough on his skin.

He partners up with Mingi again. They've been doing badminton a lot lately.

They're casually passing the birdie between them, not saying anything to each other, just as how it had been only a few days ago. Yeosang can feel the tension, but he can also feel a rumbling in his stomach, and that's when he realizes that it had indeed been empty.

Does Wooyoung feel like this? It feels as if Yeosang's stomach is gnawing away at the rest of him. Having an empty stomach hurts just as much as having a full one. It hurts. His thighs hurt. His underwear is making them chafe. It hurts.

He's out of breath, and taking deep breaths isn't an option.

"Wait, Mingi," he pants, dropping his racket.

"Yeosang? Hey, what's up?" Mingi sets his racket down on the ground a lot more gently. "Hey, Yeosang!"

He rushes over to Yeosang's side as he falls to his knees, eventually landing on his side. It feels like his protruding ribs crack as he hits the ground even though there isn't much impact. He holds his arms over his stomach.

"Yeosang, what's—"

Mingi pauses abruptly. Yeosang tries to get up, only to feel two arms grab at his as a panicked voice rings in his ears. "Yeosang-ah, can year hear me?"

He nods. "Do you need to go to the infirmary?" It sounds like the teacher. Yeosang assumes that it is. He shakes his head no. "Did you eat today?" Yeosang shakes his head again.

"Sorry," he mumbles.

His teacher sighs. "It's okay, Yeosang. Just take it easy. Can you stand?"

With the support of his teacher, he manages to stand, but the room is spinning around him again. He stumbles, eyelids drooping as his teacher slings his arm around his shoulders. He guides Yeosang back to the locker room where he sits him down on one of the benches.

Yeosang's eyes remain glued to the tiled flooring. He imagines it covered in Mingi's blood.

Just like the first time.

"Yeosang-ah, if there's something going on, you can tell me, okay?" his teacher says, voice low.

Yeosang wants to cry, but he can't. Not in front of his teacher. "I just had a lot to do today," he mutters, slurring slightly. "I haven't been getting much sleep, either."

His teacher rests a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he winces as he remembers the cuts there. They don't sting, as his teacher's touch is feather-light, but it still hurts. "It's okay, Yeosang. I understand. You can take the rest of the class off, go and shower and whatnot. If you want to join back in, you can."

Yeosang nods. "I'll get you something from the lunchroom, if you want. What would you like?" his teacher offers.

Yeosang finds himself helplessly confused at his teacher's kindness. Since when was he so kind? He's usually busy giving instructions or standing off to the sidelines just observing his class rather than teaching it. He feels bad. He shrugs.

"I'll just get you some rice, then. Just something to fill your stomach." His teacher stands, but his eyes don't waver. "It's gonna be okay, Yeosang."

As his teacher is leaving, Yeosang shakes his head.

_It's not._

-

Yeosang ends up not joining the rest of class. He eats his rice slowly, gradually gaining back whatever strength he has left in him. The cuts everywhere are throbbing, itching with irritation, but he ignores it, focusing on the small bits of rice he shovels into his mouth, washing each down with water, and eventually, his eyes are able to open all the way.

When he's finished, he chucks the the container away and follows his teacher's advice. He showers.

Though the water is pleasantly lukewarm, the pressure is still enough to make his cuts burn. They ones on his hips are especially red and raw, the skin around them pink and itchy. He tries his hardest not to scratch them.

The water pooling beneath his feet is clear. He wonders just how much Mingi's cuts bled for the water to tint red.

Eventually, the students come piling in, causing a clamor as Yeosang mindlessly massages his scalp. He takes deep breaths, hoping that he doesn't hear any sort of vicious slurs being thrown Mingi's way. If he does, he's ready to intervene.

He hears nothing of the sort, even after several minutes. Pleased, he finishes his shower, only to find his classmates still in conversation on the benches, and Mingi is nowhere in sight. He dresses himself in his casual attire, scanning the locker room all the way through before he decides to leave. Mingi is gone.

As he makes his way home, his head constantly turns in all direction in hopes of catching Mingi somewhere, but all he sees are the swaying trees and clouds of gray, appearing as if it might rain.

He just hopes San will be warm and dry, wherever he is.

-

Yeosang is only three chapters ahead in his history book instead of five, and he decides to cut it off there. Maybe, if he stops spending so much time reading the chapters ahead of time, he won't hear his teacher's voice as white noise anymore. Maybe he'd actually get something out of his lessons instead of feeling like he knows everything already.

At the same time, maybe he'd rather choose studying instead of calling Hongjoong and asking him to distract him from himself.

However, he finds himself reading ahead in his biology textbook this time to compensate for the strange episode of nonsensical note-taking that happened earlier in the day. He writes much more legibly, sans the words of guilt and apologies towards Mingi. He's focused again.

It's nearly fully dark outside at almost six in the evening. Yeosang clicks on his desk lamp as he takes his notes, brow furrowed in concentration. He's in the zone. He's focused, and this time, he actually needs to be.

He's breathing fine. In and out.

He munches on some chips. His stomach is pleased, having some form of sustenance now. He occasionally sips at a glass of water. He's feeling okay.

His phone vibrates suddenly. Confused and slightly agitated, he checks the caller ID, surprised to see that it's Yunho. He picks up.

"Hello?"

"Yeosang."

Yunho's voice instantly makes his blood run cold. It's hushed, shaky, like he's trying to hide from something. He can hear Yunho's ragged breathing in the speaker. "Y-Yeosang, I need your help. Please."

Yeosang's heart feels like it plunges straight into his stomach. It lurches, his breathing beginning to pick up again. In and out. In. _In._

That's when he realizes it's Yunho's breathing, not his. "I can't talk for that long. I just... please. My friend is in trouble, and I can't go and help him. I can't really do much of anything right now. Please. I need you to help him."

"Yunho," Yeosang says, his voice and fingers trembling, "what are you talking about? What's going on?"

"I... I think my friend is trying to kill himself."

Yeosang doesn't even have time to respond. "Please, Yeosang, I really can't talk for long. He lives near you. I'll send you his address. Call for help. I can't... I can't do it right now."

There's a crash somewhere in the background. It makes Yeosang flinch. "God, fuck!" Yunho hisses. "I-I have to go. If you run, it shouldn't take too long. I just don't know how long it'll take for help to get there. Just please, go help him!"

The line goes dead.

Yeosang doesn't think he's ever moved so quickly. He throws on a coat, slides on the most beat up sneakers he owns, and bursts through his front door into the dusk.

Yunho's next text is an address, one that Yeosang doesn't entirely recognize, followed by one that says, _call for help. i'm sorry._

The wind feels like gunshots to his face as he races down the street in the direction his GPS takes him. From his house, he takes a left, the same way he'd take if he were going to school. It's a straight line.

The arrival time estimates in about seven minutes. Yeosang doesn't know how much time he has, if any, so he runs, he runs as fast as his scrawny, injured legs can carry him, ignoring the numbness settling in his fingertips, the pounding of his fragile heart, the way the pavement sends shockwaves of pain up his bones with every stride he takes. The amount of minutes shortens, and eventually, it instructs him to take a right.

He stops dead in his tracks at the right turn he has to make.

Drooping trees and dying leaves.

He dials the number for emergency services. _Why hadn't he done it earlier?_

Blood thrums in his ears.

"—what's your emergency?"

_"I have a friend, and he... well, he's going through a tough time. And he's doing stuff behind my back that I know about, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't know that I know what he's doing."_

"He... I think my friend is trying to kill himself," Yeosang pants, lungs on fire.

_"I heard from one of my friends you had a... rough day yesterday."_

_"People were talking about how you passed out during P.E. Heard it from one of my friends."_

"Can you explain the situation to me in as much detail as you can?"

Yeosang doesn't think he's been so out of breath, yet the adrenaline coursing through his veins somehow allows him to lay down most of the story. Unfortunately, there isn't much he knows.

"So your friend called you telling you that his friend is trying to kill himself? And your friend said he couldn't call us because...?"

"I don't know," Yeosang cries honestly.

_"Why is it that we can't really... save people?"_

"What is your name, sir?"

"Kang Yeosang. I'm eighteen."

"Okay, Yeosang-ssi. Where are you? It sounds like you're running."

"I'm... I'm running to his house. I live near him, and m-my friend told me to go to him and to call you guys because he couldn't and he didn't know how long it would take for the paramedics to get there."

"Okay." The operator pauses. Yeosang keeps running.

He feels a drop of water on his hand. And another.

"What is the address of this person?"

Yeosang screams it.

He comes to a screeching halt at the tiny house with the blue door. The car is gone.

"I j-just got here," Yeosang tells the operator.

"Okay, Yeosang-ssi. The paramedics should be there in about fifteen to twenty minutes. Until then, please stay on the line with me and I will give you instructions, okay?"

Yeosang nods pointlessly, but squeaks out an "okay."

"Is the front door locked?"

Yeosang keeps running. To his surprise, the blue door is unlocked. "No, it's unlocked."

"Okay, Yeosang. Does there appear to be anybody else home?"

"No," Yeosang pants as he turns the knob and pushes past the front door.

There isn't a single sound coming from the walls. Finding the nearest light switch, he flips it on to reveal a small living room. There are no stairs. Just the one floor.

Finding Mingi shouldn't be hard.

And sure enough, when Yeosang ventures towards the back of the house, he finds a closed door. The wood is chipped, almost rotting. He pounds on it. "Mingi!"

There's no response. When he tries the handle, it jiggles, but nothing else. Unsurprisingly, it's locked. "Did you find him?" the operator asks, voice calm. Yeosang has to remind himself that it's their job to be that way, to offer professional comfort in times of emergency. To help them. To reassure them. Help them breathe.

Yet as Yeosang continually rams his body into the door, he feels nothing of the sort. The cuts on his arms beg for him to stop, but he swears he will never, even if bruises form on top of his scars, even if the impacts shatter his bones, he will not stop until Mingi is safe.

Reeling back, he kicks at the rotted part near the handle, and the door flies open.

The sight is gruesome. "Oh my god!" Yeosang cries, nearly dropping his phone.

There Mingi is, sitting in a bathtub full of water and blood, draped in nothing but a bloodstained white t-shirt and a pair of loose plaid boxers. "_Mingi_!" Yeosang screeches, his throat closing, vocal cords straining as he sinks to his knees. He shoves his phone in between his ear and shoulder, ignoring the excruciating pain coming from his upper arm.

"Yeosang-ssi, what is happening?"

"I found him," Yeosang says, tears spilling out from his eyes. "H-He's in his bathtub. There's blood. What do I do?"

"Is he breathing?"

Yeosang leans in, putting his ear up next to Mingi's parted lips, not knowing how else to check. Is he even supposed to touch him? Mingi's breath barely reaches his ear, coming in short, faint bursts of air. "Y-Yes, he's breathing," Yeosang says as he pulls away.

Mingi's eyes are closed, his brows scrunched together. "Where is the blood coming from?"

The water isn't tinted pink. It's _red. _A whole tub of it. It's not just some watered-down blood pooling in the shitty drain of the locker room showers. It's _red. _"I-I don't know," Yeosang stammers. "The water is red, I... I can't see where he's bleeding from. Is it okay to touch him?"

"Yes, but be careful while doing so. If it's a suicide attempt, chances are he's bleeding from his wrist or arm."

His arm. Yeosang has never seen cuts on his arm. He draws in a deep breath as he reaches into the water with both hands, warm from Mingi's body heat. He scoops up Mingi's left elbow with one hand, using his other to hold up the backside of his wrist.

Yeosang chokes on a sob. "Oh, no. No no no. _Fuck_!"

His entire left forearm is a field of cuts of all sorts of depth, ranging from thin slices to gashes that reveal the flesh underneath his skin. Yeosang grimaces at the sight, scared to look but scared to drop his arm back into the water. "He cut all up his forearm," he tells the operator, voice shaking.

A particularly gaping wound is present at his wrist. It's nearly two centimeters wide from what Yeosang can tell, and there's too much blood pouring from it that he has no idea how deep it actually is. "Did he cut vertically or horizontally?" the operator asks.

"Horizontally," Yeosang answers, still holding his arm up. "I took his arm out of the water, i-it's his left. What do I do?"

"Keep his forearm facing upwards and out of the water. Is there something you can rest it on?"

Carefully, Yeosang places Mingi's arm upwards on the rim of the bathtub. "Okay, I put his arm on the outer part of the tub," he tells the operator.

"Can you check for other wounds?"

Yeosang braces himself again as he reaches over Mingi's unresponsive body to lift his right arm out of the water. There are cuts lining his right forearm as well, though none of them are nearly as wide or deep. "He cut his right one, but the cuts don't look as bad."

"Okay. Yeosang-ssi, can you describe what your friend looks like? What are his symptoms?"

"H-He, um, he's breathing really fast but they're shallow," Yeosang says.

"Is he responsive? Can you try talking to him?"

Yeosang can feel his chest moving with every breath he takes. The room is spinning again, all except for Mingi, eyes still painfully closed, his face in what looks to be a constant grimace. "Mingi, hey. It's m-me. Yeosang. Can you hear me?"

He puts a hand on Mingi's shoulder and shakes it gently. Mingi's mouth opens more, a sharp exhale escaping his pale lips. He makes a noise, a short, gurgling grunt. "S-Sort of. He's barely conscious. I think he can hear me, but he can't respond." Mingi's head suddenly drops to the side.

"Mingi! Hey, i-it's me. You're gonna be okay," Yeosang says.

Mingi's next noise is a cross between a grunt and a choked breath as his body jerks suddenly, his head rotating in a circle before it falls backwards. "Mingi?"

"Yeosang-ssi, what's happening now?"

"He... he's moving, kind of," Yeosang says as he watches Mingi's head lull from side to side, his chest sporadically spasming. "Oh, f-fuck, I think... I think he's convulsing?"

"Is there a possibility that he overdosed in addition to cutting himself?"

His eyes dart around the room in search of any evidence, only to find an empty orange pill bottle sitting on top of the sink. _How did he not see that earlier?_

"I-I think he did," Yeosang says, snatching the pill bottle from its place.

"Do you know what he overdosed on and the dosage?"

The label reads 'Clonazepam, 1 mg.' Yeosang reads this aloud to the operator, adding that he doesn't know how many Mingi took.

"Okay, Yeosang-ssi. What I need you to do is talk to him. Try to keep him responsive, and do _not _try to make him vomit. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes," Yeosang responds, kneeling down by Mingi's side once again.

"Keep talking to him, and in the meantime, see if you can find any first aid material in the bathroom. If there is something you can make a tourniquet with, you may do so as well, but if at any point you feel overwhelmed or don't know what to do, either ask me or wait for the paramedics to arrive. But no matter what you do, try to keep him awake and conscious, even if it may barely be so. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes," Yeosang says.

"What I suggest you do is find first aid material. Do you know how to make a tourniquet?"

"Y-You just tie something really tight around the arm, right?"

"Yes; it may not be any sort of 'professional' tourniquet, but a makeshift one will do. If you can't find anything, a shirt will be fine."

Glancing around, Yeosang finds nothing of the sort. In a panic, he rushes out of the bathroom, using the single light from one room to guide him to another, a bedroom, which he assumes to be Mingi's. He pulls open a drawer of the dresser, rummaging through it until he finds a plain white t-shirt, and runs back into the bathroom.

"Okay, I got a shirt."

"Good. Now, tie the shirt around the top of his arm and pull tight."

Yeosang does as he's instructed, trying to pry his eyes from the blood coating Mingi's arm and dripping onto the polished tile floor. He tugs on the knot until he can't pull any tighter. "Now what?"

"See if you can find any other first aid material, namely gauze, bandages, or anything of that sort. Keep talking to him."

"Um... o-okay." Yeosang stands, turning his attention to the cabinet near the mirror. "Mingi, y-you did really good in gym class yesterday. I was r-really surprised. I was really proud of you, you know that?" Inside the cabinet, he finds a few washcloths and a roll of gauze. In a frenzy, he grabs all of them and immediately kneels back down next to Mingi.

"Yeosang-ssi, see if you can drain the bathtub."

There's a tiny knob on top of the faucet that's sticking upwards. Hoping that it's the drain, he pushes it down, and feels the slightest bit of relief when he hears the drain gurgle to life. "It's draining now," he says.

"Find a full-body towel, if you can."

The operator's erratic instructions have Yeosang's heart racing, limbs heavy and chest tight as he whips his head around in a panic. There's a towel on the drying rack off to the side, which he rips off without hesitation. "I got one."

"Before you do anything with it, did you find any first aid material?"

"Some washcloths and a roll of gauze."

"Wet the washcloths and place them gently over the cuts. What I'm trying to have you do is get Mingi's body out of the tub and onto his side."

"O-Okay."

The damp white wash clothes soak up some of the blood from Mingi's arm, turning white into red. "D-Do I apply pressure?" Yeosang asks.

"Yes. Now, this is the tricky part. The reason I'm trying to have you get Mingi onto his side is in case he vomits. You said he cut his right arm but those cuts aren't as bad, correct?"

"Yes."

"Place a washcloth over those cuts, but stay focused on the ones on his left. As soon as you get his body out of the tub, rest him on his right side and wrap him in that full-body towel. Try to keep his left forearm facing upwards as you do this. Do you understand?"

The water has nearly drained completely now. The harsh red disappears down the drain, but Mingi's blood is still dripping from his wounds. Reaching over, he places a washcloth over the shallow cuts on his right arm. In a moment of realization, he unwinds some of the gauze, tearing off a sizeable piece with his teeth and tying it around the cloth, holding it in place over Mingi's arm. He repeats the process with his left, though he ties the knot much tighter.

"I put the washcloths over his arms and tied them down with the gauze," Yeosang says.

"Good thinking, Yeosang-ssi. Now, try to lift him and get him out of the tub as quickly as you can, but try not to bump him into anything."

Mingi's body is one hundred eighty centimeters of lanky mass, and while Yeosang feels small compared to him sometimes, he knows he has no time to feel that way. Not when time is of the essence, not when Mingi's body is shriveling, not when Mingi is the small one now. Yeosang puts his phone down on the floor, hooking his arms under Mingi's armpits and, with the strength he has left, pulls Mingi's upper half from the tub. He drags the remainder of Mingi's body out, drenched from the bloody water, and lays him out on the floor.

Following the operators instructions, Yeosang promptly drapes the towel over Mingi's body with the exception of his left arm, which he flips upwards, exposing it to the air. He presses down on the cloth, trying to ignore the unsettling warm feeling of Mingi's blood seeping through it.

"He's on his side, I put the towel over him," Yeosang tells the operator.

"Good. Now, keep applying pressure to his wound and try to keep him awake, okay? This is very important. If he falls unconscious or stops breathing, let me know."

"Okay."

Yeosang grips Mingi's forearm firmly as he sets his phone down, putting it on speaker. Mingi's face remains unchanged; it's the same pained, confused expression he'd had when Yeosang first kicked through that door. His eyes occasionally tic, as if he's blinking with his eyes closed. His lips are still parted, their normal plump red now a ghastly pale pink.

"M-Mingi, I'm so sorry," Yeosang sobs.

He moves one hand into Mingi's wet hair, rocking his body gently. "Y-You're gonna be okay. You know, Yunho actually sent me here. I didn't know you two were friends. I-It's a small world, I guess." He laughs pitifully.

"I'm sorry, Mingi. I should've said something, I know I should have. I knew you were hurting, and I didn't say anything. I'm so, so sorry."

Yeosang pats down Mingi's back as he continues to rock the taller boy, attempting to dry him to an extent. Mingi's eyeballs flutter beneath his lids, his shoulders barely moving with each labored breath he takes. "Mingi, please, _please, _stay with me. I need you to stay with me."

"The paramedics are nearly there, Yeosang-ssi. Just a few more minutes. Keep talking to him," the operator's voice says from the floor.

"We need you here. Me and Yunho. I-I don't know what things are like between you two, but he cares. He does. He was the one who told me to come to you. Please, you need to live. If not for me, then for him. _Please, _live," Yeosang begs, his chest heaving and sobs echoing throughout the tiny bathroom.

"You're gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."

For once, as the words slip out of Yeosang's mouth, he doesn't care if he knows or believes it. For Mingi's sake, he _hopes _it. As he holds onto Mingi's arm for (Mingi's) dear life, weeping into nothing except Mingi's unresponsive ears and the operator through his phone, he _hopes, prays, _that things are going to be okay. That Mingi will make it out alive.

He will hope.

_For Mingi._

-

The rest seems to happen in slow motion.

Yeosang informs the operator that the paramedics have arrived. He stands immediately, moving out of their way as they get to work on Mingi's body. The taller boy's head still rolls on its axis, his expression still helplessly lost and confused. His face remains that way as he's being rolled out.

The paramedics take over completely, even continuing to talk to him and keeping him awake. One stays behind and interrogates Yeosang.

Yeosang, however, is understandably mortified. He tries to breathe, but each breath feels like a stone falling in his lungs. He tries to answer the questions given to him, even though he refuses to look the paramedic in the eyes.

"Thank you for your bravery, Yeosang-ssi," the paramedic says. "I'm sorry this happened. You did very well. Mingi is in good hands now, I promise."

Yeosang nods, his blank stare unmoving. Even as he sits in the back of a police car on the way back to his home, he doesn't tear his gaze away from whatever is directly in front of him. The ride is silent and only lasts three minutes, but everything feels like it's taking forever.

He's escorted to his front door. "Are your parents home?" the policeman asks. Yeosang shakes his head.

"They're in Japan on a business trip."

"Is there somebody who can watch you? Another family member, a friend, even?"

Yeosang's mind travels to one person. He nods.

"Can you call them, see if they'll come and watch you?"

He nods again.

"Would you like me to stay with you until they arrive?"

He shakes his head.

The policeman doesn't even question it further. "Well, if there is anything else you need, you can call the police department, and we'll have someone come and check up on you. You did well, Yeosang-ssi. I'm sure Mingi will be very appreciative."

Yeosang watches in disbelief as the cop casually strolls back to his car and drives off without a second glance. As if nothing really happened. As if Yeosang hadn't just saved a friend from dying. As if he _isn't _traumatized.

Then again, Yeosang is the one who nodded, shook his head, did whatever was _easiest _because it's _easier than having to face it._

He digs his phone out of his pocket and dials the familiar number. His fingers are numb. His eyes are tired. Everything hurts, the cuts, the bruises blooming on his arm, his head, and now, an agonizing memory burned into his brain that he's certain he will never forget no matter how hard he tries.

He wants it to stop. He wants all of it to stop.

He holds the phone up to his ear. It rings.

_"You did well, Yeosang-ssi."_

_"You're kind, Yeosang."_

_"You're so kind to everyone."_

_"You just listen and take everything in and... you're just... too good."_

_"Thank you, Yeosang. It... it really means a lot, knowing _someone _has faith in me."_

_"Oh, Sangie, you're good. You're _so _good."_

_"You're better than any of us will ever be."_

Yeosang shuts his eyes. Breathes.

In and out.

He is not good. He is the one who tipped Mingi over the edge. If only he'd _said _something, let Mingi know what he was truly feeling instead of holding it in for Mingi's sake, even though Mingi was the one causing him so much pain. Mingi's pain became Yeosang's pain. It's just an endless cycle. It doesn't stop.

Mingi was trying to make it stop.

And now, it's not possible.

Mingi lives.

"Yeosangie?"

"Hongjoong, I... it won't stop. It's not stopping."

"Yeosang, what's wrong? What's going on?"

"He was just trying to make it stop. He failed because of me."

"Yeosang, I have no idea what you're talking about. Stop being cryptic and tell me what happened."

Yeosang breathes. In. Out. He's in bed; _when did he get there? _His back is flat against the mattress. He hopes Mingi is okay.

"Mingi. He was just trying to make it stop."

There's a short pause. "Yeosang, are you home right now?"

"Yeah."

"Don't you dare hang up on me." There's a short commotion in the background, and Yeosang can hear a voice, though it's mostly static and incoherent. "I'm on my way. Don't hang up, and don't move. Are you in your bedroom?"

"Yeah."

"Don't hang up on me. Keep talking to me."

_Keep talking. Say something. You have plenty to say. Keep talking._

_"Keep talking to him."_

_Keep talking keep talking keep talking keep talking keep talking._

The irony is so painful.

"Mingi tried to kill himself. I found his body in the bathtub, it was full of water and his blood, and he just looked so out of it, y'know? His arms were a mess; well, his left was a lot worse than his right, since he's right handed, I'm pretty sure. I'd never seen such deep cuts in my life. He didn't go vertically, though, so maybe that helped. Or not. Anyway, turns out, he actually overdosed in addition to slicing up his arms, so I followed the emergency operator's instructions and had to lug his body out of the tub. God, there was so much blood. Had to lay him on his side so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit. Luckily, he didn't vomit. Would it have been better if he did? It would've helped get the pills out, right? Well, I did what I could. I made a tourniquet out of a t-shirt, I wrapped up his arms, didn't stop the bleeding entirely but it was enough to get him through while I waited for the paramedics to show up.

"So yeah, after that, they took him away in an ambulance, and a cop drove me home. I'm home alone right now, since my parents are still in Japan. I actually haven't received a single text or call from them since they left last week. Isn't that weird? The cop was like, 'is there anyone who can watch you?' and I guess I just instantly thought of you, since I don't really have any family around here and my friend Jongho is probably pissed at me because I didn't want to watch the sunrise with him this past weekend. Plus, Jongho's just such a happy person, you know? I don't want to ruin that for him. He's happy, and I don't want to bring him down by telling him all of the shitty things that are going on with me and everyone else. He actually lives down the street, I could walk to his house if I wanted, but it's Friday. He's got other friends, he might be busy. Even if he isn't, I still don't want to drop the bomb on him that 'hey, I just saved this guy in my gym class from killing himself.' Also, I think I've been having panic attacks. Mingi was the one who brought it up, actually. Maybe that's why it's been so hard to breathe lately."

"I just... I'm not good, Hongjoong. I think Mingi tried to kill himself because of me. He was just trying to help, and I ignored him, told him that I was okay. He just looked so helpless, you know? I think both of us wanted to say something, but neither of us did, and I guess Mingi just... broke. He was the first one to break. It was my fault, Hongjoong. Mingi tried to kill himself because of me. I almost passed out in gym class today because I forgot to eat. Can you believe I _forgot _to eat? At least I'm not, like, purposely not eating like Wooyoung probably does. I don't know, my memory's been so bad lately. And my cuts were hurting really bad today too. Pretty sure I bruised my arm trying to break Mingi's bathroom door down. They hurt a lot during gym class. When I nearly passed out, I fell over onto my sides. My ribs are like, poking out now, and I'm guessing that's why the cuts hurt so much. I think my shirt rode up a bit when I fell, and when the cuts hit the ground it just—"

He stops talking.

"Oh."

"Yeosang, what is it?" Hongjoong asks.

"It... it really was my fault. I think... I think Mingi saw my cuts. God, Hongjoong, it really was my fault."

"No, Yeosang, it wasn't your fault," Hongjoong asserts. "I'm almost there, Yeosang. Please, keep talking to me."

_Keep talking._

"Seeing my cuts... it must've pushed him over the edge. I was already so shitty to him. Everyone in our class hates him except for me. They're so cruel to him, Hongjoong. They called him really bad things. I was his only relief, and I couldn't even be strong for him. He needed me, and I couldn't... I couldn't do it. I couldn't be the person he needed me to be. Hongjoong, it... it should've been me."

_It should've been me._

"Stop, Yeosang." _He wishes it could. _"It's _not _your fault, and it shouldn't have been you."

"It's my fault," Yeosang says.

_It's my fault._

_It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault._

_Stop talking. It's useless._

He stops talking.

His eyes are closed when he hears his door open and arms immediately encasing him in their embrace.

The tears fall instantaneously. Small hands hold him close, one coming up to stroke his hair. He wails into this person's chest, smelling of artificial citrus and cigarette smoke.

"It's not stopping," Yeosang cries. "It's not going to stop. I just want it stop."

"I know."

"Please... please don't leave again."

Because Yeosang noticed, this person tends to leave when things become too much. They leave him in the dust to his aching cuts, only to reappear when Yeosang asks for them. He wants them to know that they're _wanted, _that he _needs _them, because he doesn't have anybody else.

He wonders if they know.

"I won't."

And instead of discounting it, Yeosang just _hopes _they mean it.

For his own sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm... really sorry. i'm unhappy with how this chapter was written. and i'm sorry for what i did to mingi. but uhh yeah.


	7. clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky clears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of abuse, self-harm, references to the suicide attempt from the last chapter, and a panic attack scene
> 
> (also, as i said in the beginning i'm completely unaware of mental health care in korea so just like ignore that kda;fjdsajf)

When Yeosang wakes up, he's alone.

He figures he shouldn't be surprised. Not after everything that's happened. Hongjoong leaves when things get too heavy. Yeosang imagines sleeping next to someone so distraught isn't the way he wanted to spend his night. He doesn't blame Hongjoong for leaving at all.

His stomach feels like it's plummeting. It groans with hunger. Yeosang simply wraps his arms around himself, his skinny, undernourished form, in an attempt to quell the noise. Instead, it only seems to amplify the sound, his hunger ringing in his ears, begging him to eat something, but his legs won't allow him to.

Yeosang wonders if this is what true self-destruction is. When one part of the body begs to live, while another prevents it from doing so. He swallows an enormous dry lump in his parched throat, figuring he should drink something too.

When he thinks of Mingi's body soaked in bloody bathwater, his appetite vanishes. He simply curls in on himself, shutting his eyes again and willing himself back to sleep.

-

Yeosang wakes up again to the same torturous hunger. Finding it too agonizing to ignore, he slowly slinks off of his bed, his legs weighing him down instead of effortlessly carrying him where he needs to go like they're supposed to. His entire body aches, his chest tight and brain fuzzy with the same images repeating over and over inside of it, Mingi's body, the blood, his eyes, his breath. Everything. Mingi.

He hopes Mingi is okay. Alive. Wherever he is.

As he chews through minuscule bites of cereal, he briefly considers calling his parents. He stares at his phone screen for a solid five minutes, thumb hovering above the button that would allow him to speak to them after what feels like forever. He frowns, remembering that they hadn't even texted him like they said they would. He imagines that they're having an amazing time without him. He has nothing against them.

He's pretty sure they wouldn't want to deal with him the way he is now. He doesn't even want to know what they would think of him. They'd probably tell him to eat more, and despite Yeosang's desperate pleas and telling them that _he's not hungry and he can't eat, _they'd simply berate him, telling him how _dare _he turn down food that's being given to him. How _dare _he, when there are so many less fortunate people out there who can't have what he has. He should be grateful.

He would tell them that he _knows _somebody like that.

He should be grateful. His parents gave him more than enough money to sustain himself for two weeks, maybe even longer. He's still in school, doing well for somebody who is barely functioning at the moment, and he has a house to come home to with working water and electricity. He has everything that a human needs to survive. He's alive.

Then why the fuck does it still _hurt_?

No matter how hard Yeosang tries to tell himself, _it could be so much worse, _it doesn't make anything better. He's still hurting. _They're _still hurting. The world is still turning. The sun stays rising. Nothing is changing.

The guilt piles on. He should be grateful. He is. But it still hurts. It shouldn't hurt. _Then why does it hurt?_

The cycle repeats.

Yeosang has a hard time swallowing the milk in his cereal. It tastes vaguely of salt.

-

"Yeosang-ah."

Yeosang stares straight ahead. There's a poster in the counselor's office with wise words of encouragement. He wonders if the counselor believes in it.

Upon returning to school, Yeosang was told to visit the social worker's office. Apparently news of Mingi's attempt had reached the school, and that he had been involved. His first period teacher had given him the pass to visit the counselor, and sent him off with a sympathetic smile but no other words.

"How are you feeling?"

Yeosang feels like he's in a movie. He's not a patient. He's a student. But such a simple question holds a not-so-simple answer, and he's never had to visit the counselor in his life, nor has he even _seen _the school's counselor. It feels so surreal, being interrogated like this, but he thinks that maybe, it's for the best.

He shrugs.

The counselor's mouth twitches in an attempt at a comforting smile. "I know it must have been hard."

That's an understatement, Yeosang thinks.

"Would you mind telling me about what happened?"

Yeosang's eyes fall from the wall to his hands, fingers interlaced placed on his lap. His thighs still hurt. "Mingi... tried to kill himself."

The counselor nods, leaning forward on her desk as if to listen more attentively. "It's okay, Yeosang-ah. Take your time," she says.

"I stopped him, I think," Yeosang adds.

She hums. "Yeosang, we've received news from the hospital on Mingi's condition. Would you like to know?"

Yeosang wonders if that's even legal, but he nods anyway. "He had his stomach pumped as soon as he arrived at the hospital. You saved him just in time. If you hadn't arrived sooner, there could have been more damage," she tells him.

It's not fair, Yeosang thinks. He didn't save Mingi; Yunho did. Yunho was the one who called him in a panic. Yunho was the one who gave him the address, told him to call for help. Without Yunho, Yeosang wouldn't have known anything. He might not have arrived at Mingi's house at all. Mingi could have died without Yunho.

It's Yunho. Why isn't anybody giving him credit?

He wants to tell her. He wants to tell her it was Yunho.

But he remembers how Yunho had sounded. She would ask for an explanation as to why Yunho couldn't have made it, why Yunho asked _him _to go instead, and while Yeosang doesn't know why for sure, he has a pretty good idea.

If Yeosang told her the truth, there's no telling how things would go for him.

"We've also heard your parents are away in Japan and you've been staying at home alone, correct? And that you don't have any other family members nearby who can watch you?"

Yeosang nods. "The closest lives two hours away."

"Is there a friend who can watch you?"

Yeosang thinks about Hongjoong. Unreliable and free, yet caring and confusing. There's no way he'd want to take on the responsibility of watching over someone who'd just witnessed such tragedy, not when he's living his own. It's like he can still smell the citrus and cigarettes, lingering on his clothes and reminding him that _Hongjoong doesn't stay like that_.

Jongho. Jongho, who Yeosang wishes he could talk to again. Confess. His one true friend who probably doesn't think of him as a friend anymore. Who lives just a minute down the road. Who has stayed with him on numerous casual occasions, even against the consent of his parents. Who has watched countless sunrises with him because he likes them and doesn't care how early he has to wake up to see them.

Jongho, who might be the only person who can watch him, but probably doesn't want anything to do with him anymore.

"Yes. He lives close by." It's a half-lie.

"Does he know about what happened?"

Yeosang shakes his head. "Do you think you could tell him?" He shrugs. The counselor sighs. "Yeosang-ah, your teachers are quite concerned about you. Your physical education coach told me that you've passed out twice during his class and that you didn't eat. Many of your other teachers say they've noticed a change in your demeanor and outward appearance. Is there something going on that you'd like to talk about?"

And Yeosang thinks how the hell could he _like _to talk about anything? There is no relief from _talking. _But then again, Yeosang wouldn't know. All the times he's ever _talked, _it was to Hongjoong. Hongjoong, who takes his secrets and leaves. Yeosang finds no relief there.

That's all he wants. _Relief. _What Mingi sought.

"I don't... I don't think I want to," Yeosang says honestly.

"Well," the counselor says, leaning back in her seat, "I can't make you say anything or talk about things you don't want to talk about. But just know, we're here for you. If there are things you need to talk about, please reach out to me or your teachers. They are all informed of the situation and are willing to help. If you need to come here during any of your classes, they will let you go."

_He should be grateful._

Has it really been that noticeable? Does he seriously raise concern among his teachers?

_What about Yunho? Wooyoung? San?_

_Why doesn't anybody care about _them_?_

He wonders if his teachers are just like everyone else. Things go noticed but left unsaid, that is, until something happens that warrant a reaction. The thought of it makes Yeosang furious.

Yeosang nods. _He should be grateful._

He is. He thinks he is.

But when all Yeosang can see is a smile with no solid, clear emotion, he doesn't know what to believe.

-

When Yeosang sees Yunho during bio, there's no mistaking it anymore.

Yeosang can see the way Yunho's jaw physically clenches, his brows furrowing with each step he takes. How there's a barely noticeable limp to his step, how his bottom lip is sucked in slightly, probably chewing on the inside of it. He's not smiling at all; in fact, his face spells a deep-set frown instead, and seeing Yunho in such a state is just too unnatural for Yeosang to ignore. It makes him feel physically sick to his stomach, though he can only imagine the way Yunho feels every time he takes a step.

Yunho moves sluggishly as he packs up at the end of class, but Yeosang doesn't hesitate. He throws his notebook and textbook into his backpack, swings it around his shoulder, and makes a beeline in Yunho's direction.

"Yunho."

Yunho looks up at him. He looks so tired, just like the rest of them. The bruise is gone, but Yeosang knows that it's only the one on his face that has disappeared. He has a gut-wrenching feeling that there are new ones in much less visible places.

"Yeosang, I figured you'd want to talk," Yunho says.

"Please." Yeosang looks at him hopelessly.

To Yeosang's surprise, Yunho nods. "I wanted to talk to you too."

"Yunho... what is going on?" Yeosang asks quietly, glancing down at Yunho's torso. He's massaging a spot on his ribs. "You..."

"You're not stupid, Yeosang," Yunho says. "I know you aren't. You just... don't know how to say things. Which is okay, honestly. I wouldn't know how to bring it up either."

The bell rings. Yunho's head raises at the sudden, dissonant noise. "I don't have practice after school. Let's talk then, okay? Meet me in the locker room."

_The locker room._

Yeosang nods. "Okay."

He wonders if he should tell Yunho that he knew from the beginning. How he both knew and didn't know at the same time. How this could have been preventable from the beginning. If Yeosang had just _said _something besides "things are gonna be okay" when both he and the bleeding stranger in the stall knew that it wasn't.

Except now, that stranger is no stranger.

-

Yeosang stays in the stall after changing. He could feel the shift in the class's energy. His teacher had placed them on teams instead of partnering them up and had sent Yeosang a look as if to say _this is for you. _He doesn't know if he should feel grateful or looked down upon. He waits for the chattering to disappear before shooting Yunho a text to let him know his location, and when Yeosang hears the door open, he practically bursts out of the stall.

Yunho looks the same. Still tired, still limping slightly. "Come on, Yeosang. Let's just walk together, okay?"

"Okay."

Yunho takes him in the direction of his and Mingi's houses. He walks slowly, and with how slowly he walks, the limp seems to disappear. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets just like Yeosang's, his shoulders raised to offer some form of warmth around his ears. "So."

"So."

"Thank you, Yeosang," Yunho begins.

_No, thank _you.

"I'm... I'm sorry I put that on you. I just couldn't do it myself."

"I know," Yeosang replies.

Yunho chuckles, the vapor forming at his lips. "You noticed, huh?"

"Y-Yeah. I... I've _been _noticing."

The truth hurts to say more than Yeosang would have ever guessed. He can feel the words wanting to spill over. "Yunho, I'm sorry. I think I've known for a while now, I just... didn't say anything. I didn't want to pry or try to get involved with your personal life, or—"

"It's okay, Yeosang," Yunho says. "I get it. It's not necessarily easy to admit that your father beats the shit out of you."

Hearing the truth hurts even more, especially now that it's coming from the source. It feels like a full impact to Yeosang's gut. It's the truth. It's Yunho's full truth, coming from Yunho himself. There aren't any more assumptions.

_It's his truth._

Yeosang feels a tiny sliver of relief.

"I think I should tell you the full story," Yunho says.

"Come on, then," Yeosang says suddenly. "Let's just go to my house. We can talk there, where it's warm."

Yunho smiles graciously, nodding as he tries to pick up the pace. He walks with a limp again, but at least he'll be warm soon. Yeosang figures it's the least he can do, take him to a warm, comfortable place where he won't be hurt for a while.

He vaguely remembers Yunho doing the same for him.

-

When the two settle in Yeosang's room, Yeosang on his bed and Yunho in his desk chair, the taller boy breaks down in tears.

"I'm so, so sorry, Yeosang. I really didn't mean for you to get involved in all of this."

Seeing Yunho cry is a sight Yeosang never would've imagined, but it hurts just as much as he'd assume. A face that Yeosang has only ever known as joyful, celebratory over athletic accomplishments, now riddled with sorrow, guilt, and hopelessness makes Yeosang wish Yunho never had a reason to cry. "I just don't know where to start."

"Start wherever's easiest. I'm here."

Yeosang's own words ring in his chest.

Yunho sniffles, wiping the tears from his eyes and letting out a sigh. "Mingi... the truth is, Mingi and I are really good friends."

"We were childhood friends, actually. Grew up together, until our families basically fell apart. Mingi's parents got divorced; his father left them. My mother... she passed away without a definitive cause, and my father just went berserk. Started going after my younger brother because I guess he was an easier target. I was the only one there who could defend him."

_"Apparently he got into a fight with some guy who was harassing his younger brother."_

"My father was... _is, _fucking insane," Yunho continues. "Can you believe, he avoids beating the _complete _shit out of me because he knows it'll hinder my athletic ability. He knows that I'm a well-known athlete, so he'll try to avoid hurting me _too _much just so that I can perform. Well, I'll tell you why I'm so good; it's because whenever I run, I imagine that I'm running away from _him._"

The sentence nearly knocks Yeosang's breath right out of his lungs.

"He _deliberately_ does that. He wants to hurt my brother, but I always take the beating for him. As long as I'm alive, that man won't lay a finger on him."

Yunho's face twists with rage and tears. Anguish and pain. "I don't know what goes on in that fucked up brain of his. He won't hurt my brother as long as he hurts me, yet I know that if I didn't take the beating for my brother, he'd probably kill him. Yet he lets me off relatively easy, easier than what my brother would get. Isn't that fucked up?"

Yeosang is having a hard time wrapping his head around it as well. He can only imagine the inner turmoil and confusion Yunho feels. "It's so weird and hard to explain. Like I said, I don't understand what goes on in his brain."

"So when you called me—"

"I was helping my brother with his homework when my father came home. He came in the house screaming, so I took my brother to hide. When we were hiding, I got a bunch of texts from Mingi, saying that he was sorry, that I wouldn't have to deal with him anymore and that the pain was going to end soon... and I just, I panicked. I called you while I still had time."

He bites his lip. "After I sent you Mingi's address, he found us, and as you could tell from today, it didn't really end well."

When Yunho lifts up his shirt, Yeosang gasps. Bruises of red and purple scattered across his torso, ribs, and sides, varying in size and severity. It's a sickening sight, one that makes Yeosang wish his own were clean. Guilt crawls up his throat again, _he should be grateful, _the cuts on his ribs are from his own hand, not somebody else's. Shouldn't he be grateful that nobody is hurting him but himself?

_Why is he doing this to himself? It could be so much worse._

Yunho drops his shirt. "It was really bad this time around. You saw it for yourself; it's hard to walk."

Yeosang glances down at his hands and nods. "I can't perform with these, Yeosang," Yunho says. "I don't think my ribs are broken, but I don't them to worsen. I just... I don't know what to do anymore, Yeosang. I know I should tell someone, but... what if nobody cares?"

Yunho's brown, doe-like eyes are glossy with tears, helpless, begging for relief.

It's what they all seek.

"What could the school do? What would the police do, if I ever decided to call them? If my father was taken away, where would me and my brother go? I don't know anymore, Yeosang. I just don't know. It's too fucking much."

Yunho's eyes fall from Yeosang's. "Some days, I understand why Mingi felt the way he did."

"No," Yeosang says.

Yunho looks up at him again, curious. "Don't... don't say that," Yeosang adds.

He sees Yunho's Adam's apple bob in his throat. "I'm sorry, Yeosang."

"Saying something is better than doing nothing," Yeosang asserts, but as soon as the words come out, he realizes that they are words he's not even confident in. Not too long ago, _he _had been the one doubting the future, figuring that saying nothing instead of risking the consequences would be _easier._

_Easier, _not _better._

Yeosang's mouth drops open at the sudden realization. "I can't tell you what to do, Yunho," he continues. "But from what you just showed me, that's _proof. _You and your brother's testimonies. That's _proof_. If you don't say something, this will only continue. If you do say something... it's uncertain what will happen, sure, but what if it's better than what's happening now? Something has to change, right?"

Yunho stares into his eyes for what seems like an eternity. His lip quivers as more tears spill from his eyes. For some reason, Yeosang hasn't shed any.

_Relief._

"I... I suppose you're right, Yeosang," Yunho says. "I'm just so fucking scared."

Yeosang understands.

He figures it's normal to fear the future. The unknown. Nothing is for certain, but as Yeosang has just come to realize, the only certainty is that things will only continue to carry on unless something is done. Something has to be done.

Something has to be said.

"I want to say something, Yeosang. I've wanted to for so long. For _years _I've gone through this shit. Having to take my father's beatings, having to hide me and Mingi's relationship... ah, fuck, Yeosang. You don't even know that part."

Yeosang looks at him questioningly, though he already has a feeling about what Yunho is about to tell him. "Mingi and I... we're, um, more than just friends. I trust that you won't tell anybody that."

"I promise I won't." Yeosang means it with his whole heart.

"When things started going to shit with our families, things at school also started going to shit," Yunho explains. "We were really close, and people started spreading rumors about us being gay, and... with both of us going through all the family bullshit, we decided it would be best to play it safe and stay away from each other."

"But... you two never stayed away from each other, I'm guessing," Yeosang says.

Yunho shakes his head. "Not in the slightest. We texted each other every night. Talked when our parents weren't home to hear us. Saw each other when we could. When I... when I started suspecting Mingi was cutting himself, I got really worried, as one would. I tried to talk to him about it after... after I told you about it, and he got really distant."

Right. Yeosang remembers the conversation.

"He wasn't talking to me, no matter how much I tried to talk to him, and... I guess he just... broke. I don't know why he tried to kill himself, Yeosang. He didn't tell me."

Yeosang has a feeling he didn't tell anybody. He didn't even leave a note behind.

"Yeosang, I _need _to see him," Yunho says firmly. "Do you know where he is? What hospital?"

Yeosang shakes his head, disappointed knowing now that he could have asked. He makes a note to ask tomorrow. "I don't care what my father does to me," Yunho says. "I need to see him when I can. I'll take Gunho with me if I have to."

Gunho. It must be the name of his younger brother.

"I... I'll try to find out," Yeosang says.

Yunho's eyes squeeze shut, his lips pressing together in a tight, thin line. "Thank you, Yeosang. Thank you so, so much."

Yunho's voice shakes. Yeosang can't help but feel relief. Mingi is alive, he has to remember that. Whether things are going to get better, Yeosang doesn't know. But from what he can remember, and from what he's realized now, all he can do is _hope._

He will try. For both Mingi and Yunho.

-

The social worker doesn't tell Yeosang where Mingi is. Apparently _that _part is illegal to disclose to him. It leaves him discouraged, but not surprised. Whatever the case, Yeosang has a feeling that Yunho won't give up on trying to find out where Mingi is being kept, and honestly, he won't either.

As it turns out, he doesn't have to wait long.

On Thursday afternoon, while Yeosang is reading two chapters ahead in his history book, he receives a call from Yunho. Concerned, he picks up.

"Hello?"

"Yeosang, I found out where he is."

Yeosang's spine shoots straight up. "What? Where?"

Yunho chuckles into the line. It's a beautiful sound. "He actually called me. He's... he's in a psychiatric ward now, but he said he gave the staff clearance for us to see him. We can go visit him."

Yeosang is already standing up with anticipation. "When can we go see him?"

"We're leaving. Now. While my father is still at work. There are some days where he actually doesn't come home. I just hope today is one of those days."

With all of Yeosang's heart, he hopes so too. "I'm gonna come pick you up, Yeosang. Gunho is coming with us."

"Okay." Yeosang takes a deep breath. In and out. "Okay."

"He's okay, Yeosang. He's alive," Yunho says, voice brimming with _hope, _lighthearted and airy. It's been so long since Yeosang has heard a voice like that.

Well, there was Wooyoung, when the younger was gushing about San in the most blind, heartfelt way. He spoke of San so dreamily, with the same lighthearted tone, but Yeosang knows that the truth was anything but. No, Yunho's is genuine. Not blinded by false love. Rather, upon the discovery that his friend, lover, whatever Mingi is to him, is alive after a catastrophe, he is filled with hope for the future. His voice is nothing like Wooyoung's, though they may have sounded the same.

Yeosang realizes he's been drawing a lot of parallels lately, parallels that shouldn't be parallel at all, but this is a good break. A good break from the ache. His heart pounds differently this time; instead of _panic, _he feels apprehensive with the possibility of _things being okay._

It's familiar, yet not. But even so, it's a good break from the pain.

-

Yeosang can't remember the last time he's visited a hospital. He's not even sure if he has. But he's definitely never visited the psychiatric wing of one.

Walking through the big metal doors operated by a full security system to keep the patients locked in is a bit unnerving. It smells like any hospital does, sterile, metallic, and full of anesthetics. It looks like any other hospital, with bright lights and white tiled flooring and a ceiling that honestly should be much higher. As the nurse leads them to the waiting room of the ward, Yeosang can hear Yunho's heavy breathing.

"Have a seat," the nurse says gently, motioning towards the waiting room. There are several cushioned chairs arranged in a typical formation for a waiting room, some taken by others who are presumably here to visit. "Visiting hours will begin shortly."

While they wait, Yeosang notices Yunho's leg bouncing up and down tirelessly. He reaches out to touch Yunho's arm comfortingly.

"It's gonna be okay, Yunho," he says, and the words feel so, so strange coming from his mouth.

Yunho bites his lip again, probably a nervous habit, Yeosang concludes, and nods shakily. He turns to his younger brother, who sits on the other side of him. On the way to the hospital, Yeosang discovered that Gunho is twelve and quite mature for his age. He imagines Gunho had to grow up much too quickly to accommodate the situation at home.

Words can't even describe how much Yeosang felt for him.

"I'm sorry you can't come with us," Yunho says. "But just stay here, don't go anywhere, and if something happens—"

"Call out for help. I know, Yunho-hyung. Thank you," his little brother says.

Yunho lets out a sigh and smiles, ruffling his younger brother's hair. Gunho giggles, fending off his bigger brother's hands before turning his attention back to his handheld game. Yeosang can't help but smile at the sight, wishing that the two brothers never had to go through such devastation.

Hopefully, it would all end soon.

A different nurse calls all the visitors in. Yeosang feels weak in the knees once he stands, though he can only imagine how Yunho feels. The two, along with the other visitors, walk through another set of metal doors to an open area, with higher ceilings and the feeling of the cafeteria at school. There are several tables spread out, a front desk to the left, and a few patients wandering about.

"If you don't have a visitor, please return to your rooms!" a nurse announces to the patients.

A few look up at her. They don't all look like the patients one would see in a movie. Some of them look fairly normal, like average, everyday people. It makes Yeosang think, there really are _normal, average people _who could be suffering to the point of hospitalization.

Mingi was, _is, _one of those people.

A couple of the patients slowly make their way back to a hallway off to the side, presumably where their rooms are located. The nurses gesture for the visitors to sit at any of the tables. Yunho and Yeosang choose a small, circular table fit for four. They wait patiently, Yunho's leg shaking once again.

It's probably five minutes before a group of patients emerge from the hallway, their heads searching for their visitors. Yeosang sees them exchange tight hugs, eyes closed as if relishing the moment. Some even sniffle and break out in tears. Some embraces last a good minute.

Then, a tall, familiar figure appears, clad in a gray t-shirt with white bandaged wrapped around his forearms, hair disheveled and eyes tired, like they haven't closed in weeks. He glances around, and once his eyes land on Yunho and Yeosang's table, his shoulders tense as he strides towards it. Yunho stands, but barely moves before Mingi throws his arms around him, letting out a choked sob.

"Yunho, I'm so, so sorry," he cries into Yunho's shoulder. Yeosang can already see tears springing from his small eyes.

Yunho's hand comes up to stroke Mingi's hair, holding his head closer to him. "I'm just glad you're safe."

Safe and alive.

Mingi's eyes meet Yeosang's from over Yunho's shoulder. He pulls away slowly, hesitantly, even. "Yeosang..."

Yunho turns around and watches Mingi step towards Yeosang, encasing him in a tight embrace, letting out a sob as his hands come together at Yeosang's back. Yeosang flinches slightly at the sudden contact, but he returns the hug, closing his eyes as he fights back tears. Yeosang can't remember the last time he's been hugged like this.

"I'm sorry, Yeosang. I'm so sorry you had to go through that," Mingi says.

"N-No, Mingi." Yeosang pulls away as Mingi wipes at his eyes. "I'm glad I did it. You're alive; that's what matters."

Mingi swallows, giving the slightest nod of the head before gesturing at the table. The three of them sit, Yunho and Mingi hip to hip with Yeosang directly across from them. "So... what happens now?" Yunho asks.

"I saw the social worker here. It was so weird, opening up like that, but I told her pretty much everything," Mingi says. He glances up at Yeosang. "Yeosang, I feel like you deserve to know the truth."

_The truth. Mingi's truth._

"Y-You don't have to, Mingi—"

"After what I put you through, you need to know. Both of us have been holding in too much shit for way too long," Mingi says assertively. "Yeosang, I'm sorry, but I know what you've been doing to yourself."

Yunho's head turns in Yeosang's directly. "What?"

"I... I thought so," Yeosang admits.

Mingi sighs, his shoulders relaxing. "It... it became too much. After I saw that, I just... I broke down. My mother was yelling at me again, left the house to 'cool off,' and I just couldn't take it anymore. I felt like it was my fault, you know? My fault that you were doing that."

"Doing what?" Yunho repeats.

Mingi bites his lip. "You didn't tell him. Right."

"It's not your fault, Mingi," Yeosang says. "I did this to myself. It had nothing to do with you."

"You've seen mine, though, right?"

Yunho's mouth falls agape. "Yeosang, you...?"

"It wasn't your fault," Yeosang asserts again.

It's not Mingi's fault. It's not. Yeosang just wanted to know what Mingi felt. He wanted to know if he could feel _relief _from it. He wanted to understand. It's not Mingi's fault. "I knew you were cutting yourself, Mingi. I knew you were doing it in the locker room showers."

Mingi's chest expands with a deep inhale. "O-Oh."

"And you must have known it was me who told you things were going to be okay."

"Yeah. I remember. It... it was your voice."

"I didn't know what to do. I felt at a loss for words, actions, everything. I felt so powerless, you know? I wanted to help you, but I just didn't know how to go about it, and this entire time we've all just been tip-toeing around all the bullshit and... I'm sorry, Mingi. I should have said something."

Mingi shakes his head, frowning. "No, please don't blame yourself, Yeosang. It's not easy to talk about this stuff. And... I know you've been going through a tough time too. You didn't want to tell me, which I tried to respect, but seeing you so sad just... it just hurt so bad. I felt powerless too."

Yeosang nods, his mouth at a loss for words once again. "Yeosang," Yunho says, "I don't know what's going on in your life either, but I've noticed it too. You broke down in my arms one day, do you remember that?" Yeosang nods again. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But we're here for you, you have to know that."

"And believe it," Mingi adds on quickly.

Yeosang glances between the two of them. He feels the familiar tug on his chest, the pressure behind his eyes as tears threaten to spill from them. He's pretty sure his bottom lip is quivering. "You've done a lot for us, Yeosang," Yunho says, glancing to Mingi at his side. "You're a good person. You don't deserve to feel the way you do."

"Neither do you guys," Yeosang mumbles, voice breaking. "Nobody deserves to go through this shit."

"I just hope it all ends soon," Mingi says. "Which is what I need to tell you guys about."

Yeosang looks up curiously. Yunho turns towards him, posture and eyes attentive. "I told the social worker all sorts of things. Kind of told her the whole story about my mom and... I even talked about you, Yunho. I'm sorry I did that. A-Anyway, she told me that she thinks it's best if I'm taken out of the house for a while until things with my mother get situated."

"What do you mean?" Yunho asks, eyebrows scrunched together.

"Whenever I get released from here, they're gonna put me in a... a, um, group home. I think that's what they said."

"What's that?" Yeosang asks.

"It's a place where kids are put when their guardians aren't fit to watch over them," Mingi explains. "Usually kids with mental health issues. Like me, I guess." He laughs humorlessly. "But she said that I'll be safe there, I'll get therapy and support and whatnot until I'm fit to go home."

"What about your mother?" Yunho asks.

"I honestly don't know what's going to happen; maybe she'll be put into a facility too. Before I... you know, she exploded on me and left me alone, and I guess she was found at a convenience store buying alcohol. No surprise there." Mingi snorts and rolls his eyes. "I don't know what happened after that. Haven't been updated on her yet. The social worker told me that the goal is to get both me and my mother enough help so that we can live together again."

"Do you think that's possible?" Yunho asks.

Mingi sighs. "I... honestly, I really hope it is. Everything was fine before my father left. I just want things to go back to the way they were. If I could live happily with my mother again, I would. As much as she's treated me like shit... I don't hate her." He looks at Yunho, whose eyes are completely unreadable. "Yunho, I'm sorry I told the social worker about you. I didn't tell her about, um, _us, _but I told her what was going on with you, and she said that while _she _couldn't do anything about it, it's probably best to get the authorities involved."

Yeosang could have told him that. _Anybody _could have told him that. Then again, anybody could have told _San _that. It makes him wonder just why San didn't. Yunho's lips press into a thin line, brows creased in thought as his eyes meet the table. "I... I know. I feel like I've known that for a while, now."

"I know you're scared, Yunho," Mingi says. "But after all of this, I just... I want to see things get better. For all of us."

Yunho looks up at Yeosang, his eyes teary again. "Yeosang... it must really hurt, seeing us go through all of this, right?"

The question takes Yeosang aback, but he finds himself nodding. It's as if everything is coming full circle, as if all of them have finally had a moment of realization, that _saying something is _better _than nothing. _And Yeosang is finally discovering the truth, _their _truths, instead of having to sit through them and create his own twisted versions of them. It's strange; while his assumptions have been proven to be reality, hearing them finally feels like... relief.

It's the reality. It's no longer unsaid. It's no longer just trapped in Yeosang's mind as secrets that keep building. It's being released.

Some of it, anyway.

But Yeosang will take it. Things can get better for Yunho and Mingi.

Yeosang nods. "I'm sorry, Yeosang," Yunho says lowly before chuckling, shaking his head. "I'm such a coward. I just keep running from things, hoping that it's all gonna turn out okay in the end, but it's not going to, right? Unless I do something about it. You said it yourself... things might be uncertain, but the only thing that is certain is that things won't change unless something is done."

Mingi looks at Yeosang with the tiniest of smiles on his face, pride in his small eyes. "You said that?"

"Y-Yeah."

"Wise words," Mingi says, his smile expanding. "It's one of those things that's totally cliché, but after everything that's happened and all the shit I've been through these past few weeks... I've come to realize that it really is true."

"Sometimes we take clichés for granted, I guess," Yunho says, shrugging. "But... what do I do? I'm already avoiding my father by coming here. If I go home and he's home... there's no telling what he could do."

"Stay with me," Yeosang blurts.

Both pairs of eyes land on him. "My parents are away for another week. You and Gunho can stay at my place. You guys should be safe. Besides... the social worker at school asked me if there's someone who could watch me after everything that's happened, so, ha, I guess it works out."

"You'd really do that for me?"

"Yunho, you have to understand, if you really do go stay at Yeosang's tonight, you _have _to tell someone tomorrow. Because if your dad finds out..." Mingi trails off.

"I know," Yunho says. "But what if no one believes me? What if—"

"Yunho." Yeosang looks at him dead in the eyes. "There's proof on your body. You showed it to me."

Mingi turns his head sharply towards the athlete. "What?"

"Were you even able to participate during practice?" Yeosang asks.

Yunho shakes his head. "I... told them I wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, Yunho." Mingi rests a hand on Yunho's shoulder, and Yeosang swears he's never seen the superstar athlete look so small.

"They know I never skip practice, so they figured I must have really meant it. They let me take the days off," Yunho elaborates. "Still hurts like hell."

"You don't get bruises like those from falling down, and you're not being beat up by anybody else or have bad blood with anybody else, from what I know," Yeosang says. "They have to believe you."

"I'm with Yeosang," Mingi says. "You have to tell somebody. They'll believe you, Yunho."

In a way, Yeosang can understand. He wonders if anybody would believe him about San, Wooyoung, or Seonghwa. The lack of attention towards them has been leading Yeosang to believe that they wouldn't, but then again, _nobody is saying anything. _Perhaps he should say something. Make them believe that San isn't the troublemaker he's been rumored to be. Make them believe Wooyoung and Seonghwa are silently screaming to be helped. That they're all suffering. That they _need _help.

Even so, he wonders if they'd even _care._

People care about Yunho. Yunho is bright, with an amiable smile that could light up an entire room. He's a notorious athlete, appreciated and admired by many. People care about him.

But Yeosang doesn't want to tell him that. He wonders if Yunho knows, believes it, but what does that make San? Wooyoung? Seonghwa? Unworthy of being cared about?

Yeosang wonders if Seonghwa was ever truly appreciated for anything besides his prestigious reputation and abundant amount of money. San is a troublemaker, and Wooyoung is a nobody. People don't care about them.

Would people care if their truths were brought to light? Yeosang truly doubts it, and that is what's tearing him apart.

But for now, Yunho and Mingi are right here, in front of him, and there's _hope._

Yeosang will take it.

-

Yunho accepts Yeosang's offer.

With a teary goodbye, they leave Mingi at the hospital. Mingi tells them to call sometimes, gives them the number of one of the hospital's patient phones, and tells them that he'll try to call whenever he can as well. Yeosang, Yunho, and Gunho all pile back into Yunho's car and head off into the setting sun, in the direction of Yeosang's house.

Yeosang lets Yunho park in the vacant garage since his parents' cars are gone anyway, as an extra precaution in case Yunho's father decides to look for them. Yunho says he doubts it, since his father already seems to hate them so much and is probably relieved that they're gone. Yeosang doesn't know how to feel about that.

With some of the money his parents gave him, Yeosang orders food for the three of them. Filling his stomach with actual food feels strange, like his body has become accustomed to not eating so much, and at the end of a regular meal, Yeosang finds his stomach aching. He hides it from the two brothers, not wishing to worry them further. They eat mostly in silence, with the occasional small talk rising here and there.

While Yunho is showering, Gunho peaks into Yeosang's room. "Yeosang-ssi?"

"Oh, hi," Yeosang says, sitting up from his bed. "You can just call me hyung."

"Okay, Yeosang-hyung," Gunho says. "Can I come in?"

Yeosang nods, motioning his head inside. Gunho takes careful steps, leaving the door open behind him. "Thank you for doing this for us."

"Of course," Yeosang says. "Things are gonna get better."

Gunho nods hesitantly. "Yunho-hyung said he's going to tell the school tomorrow. And that no matter what happens, he's going to continue to protect me."

Yeosang hums as he smiles. "Your brother is strong."

"Sometimes I wish I was older so I could protect him instead," Gunho says.

Yeosang finds himself at a loss for words again. Gunho resembles Yunho in the most striking ways, like he's just a miniature version of him. Wide, puppy-like eyes with a charming smile and a handsome face. It breaks Yeosang's heart knowing that if Yunho weren't there, Gunho would take what Yunho currently receives.

Not for long.

"Our father should go to jail," Gunho says, his voice suddenly serious. "I don't care what happens to him, as long as we're away from him."

Yeosang can only imagine how terribly their father has treated them for Gunho, a twelve-year-old boy, to hold so much spite and hatred against him, so much to say that he doesn't care about what happens to their own father. He can't even recall feeling such intense emotions at such a young age, nor such a strong sense of responsibility where he _wished _he was older.

Gunho did not deserve to have his childhood ripped from him.

"Yunho-hyung told me to be strong for him," Gunho says. "If that's the only thing I can do, then I'll do it."

"You _are _strong, Gunho-ah," Yeosang tells him firmly. "You've _been _strong. Both of you. Things are going to get better."

And for once, the words don't feel like complete lies. They don't feel uncomfortable coming from his mouth. There's an overwhelming sense of hope in his words, that things really _are _going to get better. That people will believe Yunho, that their father is going to pay for what he's done, and that Yunho can finally go to school without a mark anywhere on his body. Yeosang understands; even _he _is terrified, but he knows very well that this is their only option for things to finally change.

He will continue to hope. For Yunho and Gunho.

-

When the truth does come out, Yeosang doesn't see Yunho for the entire day.

Yunho had taken them all to school, dropped Gunho off first, and with a firm hug, told Yeosang that he was going to go as soon as he could. Yeosang didn't know what he meant by that, but Yunho had left him standing at the front of the school, clueless and speechless, and walked away with a newfound tenacity in his step. Yeosang could only watch.

He worries when he doesn't see Yunho at lunch or biology. He hopes that means something good.

He eats. He breathes. And for once, there is relief; his thighs and ribs and hips have settled, their stinging calmed, and Yeosang can walk without his legs wanting to give out underneath him.

As he's sitting at home doing his homework, he briefly considers calling Yunho, but there's always the possibility of that leading to something that none of them want. He hopes that Yunho is safe wherever he is, that his father isn't with him or his brother, and that Yunho is alive and well.

When his phone rings, he picks it up hastily, only to be slightly confused and mildly disappointed when he sees Hongjoong's name.

"Yeosangie!" Hongjoong chirps as soon as he picks up.

"What is it, Hongjoong?"

"That's no way to greet a friend," Hongjoong says, and Yeosang can hear the pout in his voice.

There are plenty of things Yeosang could say to that, but he refrains. Still, Hongjoong sighs. "Anyway, I just wanted to know how you were doing, Yeosang. You gave me quite the scare a few nights ago."

"Then why haven't I heard from you since?" Yeosang retorts.

There's a short pause before Hongjoong answers him. "Things have gotten a little... rough. I just wanted to wait until a couple things blew over so I could ask you how you were doing."

Yeosang rolls his eyes, glad Hongjoong isn't there to see him doing so. "Hongjoong, you _left._"

"I know, sweetie," Hongjoong says, though Yeosang can't tell if there is sincerity to his tone or not. Hongjoong seems to have become a master at hiding such things, probably as a method of trying to protect himself.

"You left after you said you wouldn't," Yeosang says, remembering.

"I know."

"Why?" Yeosang asks.

The pause is longer this time. Yeosang can't hear anything, not even Hongjoong's breathing or any background noise. "You... you always leave, Hongjoong," Yeosang says. "When I needed you, when I had nobody else that night... you left."

"You fell asleep," Hongjoong says like it's that simple. "You didn't need me anymore."

"That's... that's such fucking _bullshit_, Hongjoong!" Yeosang shouts, glad that his house is empty.

The emotions resurface. He should be grateful. Mingi and Yunho are alive. Things are going to get better for them. Everything is going to be okay with them. He should be grateful. He should be happy.

Right?

"My friend almost _killed _himself, and I was the one who saved him. I saw his blood _everywhere, _and I was so fucking scared that he was going to die in my arms, and the officer literally asked me if there was someone who could watch me, and I immediately thought of _you, _Hongjoong. And you _left._ And you have the nerve to just not talk to me for three days, not even a text asking me if I was okay? Well, here's what you missed. Mingi's alive, he's in the hospital. Yunho, his friend, boyfriend, whatever they are, was the one who told me that Mingi was trying to kill himself, and it turns out his dad _is _beating the shit out of him. He came to school _limping, _and he showed me later that day that he had bruises _everywhere _on his abdomen. I'm pretty sure I've told you about him, because I know I tend to ramble when I'm upset, but I'm sure you weren't even listening, right? Because that's all you _do_, Hongjoong. You listen without even really listening, and then you leave and act like nothing happened."

There's a heavy, empty sigh. "Yeosang... you don't know me at all."

"I don't _have _to, Hongjoong," Yeosang says, exasperated. He doesn't know when the tears started forming, but they're there now, streaming down his cheeks. "I'm so tired, Hongjoong. I don't know what to do anymore. Mingi and Yunho are getting help, I think, but... everything still hurts and I don't know why."

_He should be grateful._

"You were the only person I could rely on in that moment, and you said you wouldn't leave," Yeosang mumbles as he swallows a sob. "And you did anyway. Like you always do."

_He should be grateful. Mingi and Yunho are getting help. They're going to be okay._

_Why isn't he okay? He should be okay._

"I don't know what to tell you, Yeosang," Hongjoong says. "I'm sorry for leaving you, but... I have my own reasons. Ones that you wouldn't be able to comprehend."

"Then _what, _Hongjoong?" Yeosang groans, tilting his head back in frustration. "You're going to leave me without a reason, but still call after a few days like you really give a shit?"

"I do, Yeosang," Hongjoong interjects.

"Then _why did you leave_?"

It's all Yeosang wants. An explanation. He's spilled all his secrets to Hongjoong, but Hongjoong doesn't do the same to him. It makes him wonder why; does Hongjoong think he's too fragile? That these "reasons" are much to intricate and complex that he won't be able to get to the bottom of Hongjoong's psyche? Yeosang has a feeling that he will _never _understand Hongjoong, but that's not going to stop him from wanting to know just _why _Hongjoong acts the way he does.

And if Hongjoong thinks Yeosang is too fragile, what does that make Hongjoong? Yeosang, who spills too much, and Hongjoong, who spills nothing at all. Yeosang, out of distress, and Hongjoong out of what?

"Yeosang, I really do apologize for leaving you," Hongjoong says. "Things got out of hand. If you want me to tell you, I will, but only in person, okay?"

Yeosang sighs. If this is the best he'll get out of Hongjoong, he'll take it. "And Yeosang," Hongjoong says, "I really do mean it. You should dye your hair. I'll even help you out. Tell you what, you come over and let me dye your hair, and I'll tell you everything you want to know, okay?"

"Why do you want me to dye my hair so bad?" Yeosang asks, frustrated.

"Because you'd look good with pink hair," Hongjoong says. "And don't you think it's time for a little change? You're not getting any younger, Sangie."

"You're saying that like I'm over thirty."

"You act like you are."

Yeosang scoffs. "My parents are gonna kill me. Pretty sure my teachers wouldn't favor it, either."

"Yeosang... since when did you start caring about what others think?"

"I—"

"I'm obviously not going to force you to dye your hair, Yeosang," Hongjoong says. "I just think you should. Next time you come over, if you decide to, I'll have everything ready."

Yeosang lets out a deep sigh, biting his lip in frustration because even after this, he _still _hasn't gotten an explanation from Hongjoong, and there's a possibility he won't get one until he dyes his fucking hair. He's so confused as to _why _Hongjoong wants him to dye his hair so badly.

"Whatever, Hongjoong," he ends up saying.

"Good. Glad we're on the same page now. And look, I'm glad your friends are getting help. You said they are, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"See, I listen, Yeosang," Hongjoong says. "I just listen when I want to."

Yeosang is about to ask why, only to shut his jaw when he remembers he won't get an answer. "I'll let you carry on with whatever you were doing. Ta-ta, Yeosangie."

The line drops.

Yeosang removes the phone from his ear, glaring at it before rolling his eyes and tossing it onto his bed.

Why does Hongjoong have to be so fucking difficult? Why does Yeosang even spend time with him? Yeosang knows Hongjoong is nothing but trouble, the _real _troublemaker, unlike San. If only the kids at school knew Hongjoong; San would be seen as a saint. But then again, Hongjoong is way past that. He's twenty, past high school and living the life of a comfortably numb, drug-loving prostitute who can't commit.

And then he remembers.

He doesn't know how he forgot.

He remembers he'd been drunk at the time, hazy after a post-orgasmic bliss, but there had been a snippet of Hongjoong's vulnerability. With a single question, Yeosang had briefly tapped into Hongjoong's true emotions. He remembers Hongjoong's eyes.

Despair. Beautiful despair.

Yeosang wonders if Hongjoong wears contacts to hide it.

If he wears such gaudy attire just to hide what's underneath it, those scars Hongjoong had previewed for him, as if Hongjoong wants so desperately to erase his past with his present endeavors. If he wears makeup not just to appear as a doll for his clients to use, but to mask his true sorrows, his beautiful despair, the tiredness under his eyes just like the rest of them and the pain behind the scenes.

Hongjoong must still be suffering no matter how much he tries to convince himself otherwise.

Yeosang wonders if he's even aware of his own suffering.

If he isn't, then what a walking tragedy he must be.

-

When Yeosang finally gets a call from Yunho, it's past ten at night. Yeosang has nearly tucked himself away, only to be startled by the vibrations at his side and an unknown number displayed on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Yeosang, it's me, Yunho." His voice sounds bright.

"Yunho, hey!" Yeosang sits up instantly. "What's going on? What's happening?"

"It's... it's a long story," Yunho says. "I'm at the hospital right now. I've been here almost all day."

"What happened?"

"When I told the social worker, she was really... surprised, I think. But when I showed her the bruises, she immediately sent me to the nurse, and I guess while I was being looked at, she made a bunch of phone calls trying to find my father, and... well, first, I was taken to the hospital so a doctor could look at my ribs."

"And?"

"They're not broken, thank god, but they're bruised internally," Yunho says. "Anyway, my brother's here with me too. We're safe. The social worker here at the hospital is making sure that we're not going to be anywhere near my dad anytime soon."

"Do you know what happened with him?"

"From what they're telling me, he's going to be arrested. I'm not sure if they've arrested him already, but that's what I know so far."

Yeosang lets out a sigh of relief. "Yunho... how are _you _doing?"

"I think I'm okay," Yunho says, albeit a bit shakily. "It's been a tough day, but my brother and I are safe, and that's what matters. I don't know what's going to happen next, or if you'll even see me at school for the next few days, but... I really think things are gonna be okay."

"I'm so glad, Yunho," Yeosang says.

"I am too," Yunho replies. "I talked to Mingi too. He's doing okay."

"That's good to hear."

"What about you, Yeosang?"

Yeosang doesn't know. He thinks he's okay, as he has no urge to slice into his skin or has the feeling of his lungs collapsing. He's breathing, he'd eaten dinner a few hours prior, and he'd done a reasonable amount of homework. There was the conversation with Hongjoong, but... Yeosang is okay.

"I'm okay."

But as soon as he says it, he doubts himself.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

The second answer comes out without hesitation, but Yeosang knows it's autopilot. He knows it's a response that he's installed into his system just so people leave him alone, but he _doesn't _want Yunho to leave him alone, not like Hongjoong, and while he knows Yunho _wouldn't _do that, it still doesn't stop him from telling him that he's okay and that he's sure about it.

He's not sure about it.

Yunho sighs over the line. "Today was exhausting, Yeosang. Definitely not the way I want to spend a Friday but, god, it's such a relief, knowing that I don't have to see my father for a night."

"Yeah."

"Anyway, you must be tired too, Yeosang. I won't keep you up any longer. Just... thank you, Yeosang. For everything. I know you might not think so, but you really, really helped us, me and Mingi. And Gunho, too. You're a good person, Yeosang."

Yeosang doesn't want to fight it. He's sick of fighting it. "Thank you, Yunho. You are too."

He's so, so tired.

Yunho chuckles, warm and bright even through the phone. "Goodnight, Yeosang."

Click.

Yeosang drops his phone to his side. He's tired.

He doesn't feel good in any way. Though there is some relief, there is still guilt, because _he should be grateful, _but his chest still aches and his limbs are still heavy and there are still people who are _hurting _around him because he hasn't said anything about them. Yet. He doesn't know if he ever will, because who would care about San or Wooyoung or Seonghwa? It makes him wonder if Hongjoong really cares about them or is just using them as a way to exonerate himself of his own guilt. To make himself feel like a good person.

It makes Yeosang wonder if he's doing that too.

But he does not feel good.

He should say something. They're still people, and they're still hurting. But nobody would care about them. Yeosang feels guilty just for thinking that. He cares, right? _He wouldn't be so heartbroken if he didn't._

_He should be grateful he isn't them._

He was born into a relatively fortunate life. He has what he needs. People have it worse. San has it worse. San has it so, so much worse. He should say something about San, but who would he tell? Nobody would listen, nobody would care.

_San is too far gone._

_He should have said something sooner._

Yeosang's chest tightens again. Does he care? Why would he feel this way if he didn't? If he really does care, why does he feel like nobody else would? That would mean he doesn't care, right?

There's still hope for Wooyoung and Seonghwa. There has to be. They're still students; they're not living at a prostitute's place like San. They have homes to go back to, and while they may not be ideal, it's still something.

But that was what Yeosang thought about Yunho, until it was revealed that Yunho's home was far from ideal.

_"I bet his family is rich and doesn't give a shit about him."_

Yeosang realizes, he knows _nothing _about them. Why does he care so much? Does he even care?

It's a vicious, endless cycle.

Yeosang has a hard time breathing when he tries to fall asleep. It goes in. Out. In, in, out. Out, sometimes, in, others. He swallows hard. There is no relief.

It had been so, so temporary. But he should be grateful he felt any sort of relief at all, even if was for a short while.

_He should be grateful. He is. He really, truly is._

But it still hurts.

With every sharp, painful breath he takes, he realizes this. There is relief, but there isn't. It still hurts.

He wonders how Mingi truly feels, if he's angry now that he can't find permanent relief or if he's truly grateful to be alive. He hopes for everyone's sake that Mingi doesn't try again, that things turn out okay for him.

For some reason, Yeosang doesn't hope the same for himself. Perhaps he can't anymore.

It makes him wonder if he's too far gone, just like San, lost in a sea of suffering that shouldn't even be his to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't get your hopes up


	8. descend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun descends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi y'all
> 
> i just want to say thank you for all the kudos and comments. I may not reply to comments often, but I do read every single one of them. To those who may identify with any of the characters, please know that things do get better. I love you <3
> 
> this chapter contains discussions of past sexual abuse (sort of graphic, please be careful), use of marijuana, mentions of substance usage/abuse, explicit sexual content, heavily dubious consent, mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts/discussion of suicide, and panic attacks
> 
> just a warning, this chapter is pretty long and also very heavy. please be careful. i love you.

When Yeosang returns to school, he expects Yunho to be absent. As his day begins, he understands, but he hopes that wherever Yunho is, he's safe. Over the weekend, he hadn't received any updates, no texts or phone calls from him, but he supposes that Yunho needs the time and space. He's perfectly willing to give Yunho both.

Yeosang feels okay. During his history lecture, he scribbles down the notes as the teacher is talking despite already knowing all the information from the textbook. He's assigned a small research paper that he's sure he can get done in one night given the fact he's already read through the material he needs to write it; he just needs to find articles and cite shit. It's not an issue.

What's an issue is Park Seonghwa looking like absolute death.

It sparks enough worry in Yeosang to distract him from the small amount of relief he'd felt over the weekend. He's able to focus on the lecture, because academics is second nature to him at this point, but he can see how Seonghwa's skin no longer glows, how his eyes no longer hold that aggravating amount of arrogance to them. It's as if his body has completely lost substance, like he's just a shell of who he once was.

Yeosang almost can't believe it. This _can't _be Park Seonghwa.

Seonghwa always raises his hand during class discussion. He's always talking to his peers at the beginning of class, probably boasting about the amount of money he has. He always has something to say, and whether people really listen or not, Yeosang doesn't know. But that's the Park Seonghwa he knows. The Park Seonghwa he sees can't be the same one.

After their slight altercation in the hallway, Seonghwa hasn't spoken to Yeosang once. Yeosang doesn't even know if Seonghwa has done so much as _look _at him. Maybe Yeosang has unconsciously doing the same, too focused on Yunho and Mingi to worry about Seonghwa. But now that Yunho and Mingi are absent, getting the help they need, Yeosang realizes how lonely it is.

He also realizes how easy it is to jump from one person's problems to another, especially when one is gone. In this case, both Yunho and Mingi are gone. It leaves Seonghwa wide open.

And Yeosang doesn't even want to think about Wooyoung.

He hasn't seen Wooyoung in several days. He wonders if he's just been MIA, maybe they just haven't crossed paths, or if Wooyoung is skipping school to be with San again. If that's the case, Wooyoung's status in school must be suffering. Yeosang is pretty sure so many absences can result in expulsion, but he wonders if Wooyoung would even care at this point.

He knows San certainly didn't.

This day is no different. Seonghwa doesn't talk to Yeosang and Yeosang doesn't talk to him. Another school day goes by where Yeosang notices how awful Seonghwa looks, but he doesn't say anything about it to anyone. It is no different.

The only difference between this day and others is how alone Yeosang feels.

While he's used to eating lunch alone, not seeing Yunho and Mingi in his classes is a strange experience. He's grown used to seeing their deteriorating states, but now, that may very well be reversing. They're getting help. They're going to be okay, or at least, Yeosang hopes they will be.

But Yeosang can't deny how lonely it is without them. While he sits through another tedious lecture in bio, he finds himself wanting to glance over his shoulder. When he's assigned to a team in P.E., he expects Mingi to be by his side. It's so out of place, their absences, but Yeosang has to remember that _it's for the better._

He doesn't know how long they'll be gone for, or if they'll even return. He hopes they do, and he hopes they look and feel a thousand times better. While he's writing the research paper for history, he checks his phone periodically just in case there's a text from Yunho or a call from Mingi, but he gets nothing of the sort.

The anticipation is exhausting, but Yeosang powers through it. He finishes the paper in three hours, probably a new record for an entire research paper, and by the time he's finished, his stomach is growling and he actually has enough energy to bring himself to eat.

He feels okay. His legs are functioning, and his skin doesn't itch. For several moments, he forgets the scars. As he showers, they sting faintly, but the pain is bearable. When he rubs his skin, the rough patches of the damaged skin make him wince, but not because they hurt. They're just unpleasant to feel, reminding him that they're there now, that he can't erase what he's done to himself. He doesn't want to do it again.

For some reason, thinking about Mingi's scars makes him feel guilty. The attempt had left him with several deep ones, on his forearms instead of his thighs this time. Yeosang knows he will have to wear long sleeves to conceal them. It makes him think, Mingi must have not planned on being saved if he resorted to cutting his arms. He will have to live with those for the rest of his life, on an area that is difficult to hide.

Mingi hadn't planned on being saved, but Yeosang saved him anyway. Why does he feel so guilty? Mingi is alive. Yeosang is glad he is. But now, Mingi has to face the reality, the truth, that he has left several permanent marks on himself, constant reminders of his pain, visible to not only himself but to everyone else. He has to live with that now. Yeosang is the reason why.

He wishes Mingi never tried in the first place, but that's the reality. It happened. And while Yeosang knows how difficult it will be for Mingi to live with his scars, inner and outer, at least he is alive.

He should be grateful, not guilty, but he feels both. One is justified. The other is not.

Yeosang is confused as to which is which.

-

The week seems to fly by in a blur.

Yeosang wakes up all of those days, goes to his usual classes, sits through lectures filled with information he already knows. He breathes, eats. Doesn't actively participate in class discussions. Sees Seonghwa looking as ghastly as ever without saying anything about it to anyone. Performs decently during P.E. Doesn't see Jongho once. Doesn't see Yunho or Mingi.

It's becoming another routine. Yeosang doesn't entirely mind it.

He should be doing things on weekends. He should have friends that he can hang out with, watch movies with, eat tons of junk food with. He should be experiencing things that any high schooler would. He should be having fun when he's not bombarded with homework, though he never is since he's always ahead. He should be going out. He should be living. He should be _happy._

If Jongho didn't hate him, maybe he could do one or two of those things. But that isn't the reality anymore. Maybe Jongho doesn't _hate _him, but Yeosang has a feeling that Jongho feels a certain disdain towards him, ever since that morning.

Yeosang wishes he could control the sun. That way, he could go back, and he could watch it rise with Jongho like he should have done in the first place.

He also wishes he could rewrite fate, rearrange the stars, so that maybe San would have been born at a different time, in a different space. To a different family, one that would show him all the love and affection one deserves. One that would treat him like he was their child, not a _troublemaker, _some type of criminal. San had never been those things, and Yeosang is certain he will never understand why his family treated him as such.

There are a lot of things Yeosang wishes were different, but he knows that stars do not grant wishes. They do not fall for anybody, just like the world doesn't stop turning for anybody. Just like time doesn't stop. Just like the sun and moon are guaranteed to rise and set. Everything must go on. Humans are not exempt from tragedy.

The universe doesn't change for anybody.

It makes Yeosang wonder what life for San would have been like had he been born differently. Would he look different? Would he live somewhere else? Would his family be different, even? If the stars were placed differently, what would have changed? Certainly, whatever the differences, the other possible outcomes must be better than what he ended up with. The universe dealt him a shitty hand of cards, so much so that he barely stood a chance at his own life. San truly had the poorest luck in the gamble of life, his parents rolled the dice, and he was the abomination that rose from the deal.

The thought makes Yeosang's chest twist in knots.

If he could, he would reverse thousands of sunrises and sunsets just so he could re-roll the dice for everyone.

-

Yeosang receives two phone calls on Friday evening. The first, surprisingly, comes from his mother.

"Yeosangie!" his mother chirps into the phone. "How are you?"

"Fine," Yeosang replies, but there's absolutely no truth to it. There is so much more he could say. "How are you? How are things going over there?"

"Amazing," his mother sighs. "The deals and promos are going smoothly. Your father's promotion is right around the corner. The thing is... it might be a little longer until we're home."

Yeosang's heart drops ten stories. After all this time, two weeks of no calls or texts or _anything_, his mother decides to call him to let him know that they'll be absent even _longer. _Yeosang wonders if his mother sees an issue with that, because he sure does.

"How long?" Yeosang asks.

"Another week, probably. Two at most," his mother answers, tone indifferent. "Are you alright? Do you still have money?"

He does. He hasn't been eating much anyway, but he doesn't tell her that. Instead, he simply says yes, but she offers to send him more anyway, just in case.

"How's Jongho?"

"He's good."

If his mother can sense anything unusual about her son's tone, she doesn't bring it up. She continues talking like nothing is wrong, like nothing is different, and it bugs Yeosang. Out of all the people who should know him best, shouldn't it be his own mother? He thinks, _he should be grateful, _because at least his mother isn't Mingi's and his father isn't Yunho's or San's. He answers her questions (have you been eating? Sleeping? Studying? Yeosang answers yes to all of them despite only one being true) with a minimal amount of confidence, yet she speaks at a hundred miles an hour like Yeosang actually gives a shit.

When she starts talking about the business trip, Yeosang tunes out. It's not her fault, nor does he have anything against her, but all he can think is _why didn't she call like she said she would?_

_Why did Hongjoong leave after he said he wouldn't?_

"...so if your father ends up getting this promotion, he'll get a huge bonus as well! We might be able to go on vacation, as a family! How does that sound, Yeosang-ah?"

There's a pause as Yeosang's brain returns to the surface. "Yeosang?"

"Oh, yeah," Yeosang says, "that sounds fun."

"Yeosangie... are you okay? You sound a bit tired. Are you sure you're sleeping?"

_Do you even care if I do?_

"Yeah, I am. Just been doing a lot of homework," Yeosang answers, and while it's the truth, there's so, so much more to it.

After all, he does his homework to escape nowadays.

"Ah, you're such a hard worker, dear. I am so lucky to have you as my son."

Yeosang doesn't know if he believes that. He's pretty sure that his parents would be ashamed if they saw him now, eyes sunken in, body skin and bones from not eating right. His scars, oh god, his scars. If his parents knew what he had done, he doesn't know how they'd react. They'd probably send him away somewhere, perhaps to a place like where Mingi is being kept, but he isn't like Mingi. He isn't suicidal. He isn't depressed.

_He isn't depressed._

"Anyway, I'm so sorry I haven't been in touch. Things have been quite hectic over here, but I'll try my best to call when I can!"

Yeosang doesn't trust it for a second. If she does, he'll be very surprised. "Okay," he says.

The conversation ends with an "I love you" on both ends, but when Yeosang says it, it feels hollow. It's strange; he loves his mother, he does, but he can't ignore how she never called, never even texted, and after the duration of what the original business trip was _supposed _to be, she called just to let him know that it was going to be longer until they come home.

Yeosang feels hurt, but he also feel like he shouldn't be. His parents are having a good time. His father is thriving at work, and they're probably having fun. They're probably celebrating every night, either with each other or with his father's coworkers. He should feel happy for them.

He is. He is happy for them. He is grateful for them. He is grateful that they aren't San's or Yunho's or Mingi's. But he is hurt. He doesn't want to deny it.

The second call he receives is from a number that he vaguely recognizes, but isn't saved to his phone. Hesitantly, he answers, only to be greeted by a familiar deep voice, hushed and raspy. "Hello, is this Yeosang?"

"Mingi?"

"Yeosang! Hi!"

Yeosang chuckles as he wipes something from his eye. He doesn't remember crying. "Mingi, it's good to hear from you. How are you doing?"

"Better," Mingi answers. "Things are still a bit rough. Like, I have good days and I have bad days. I don't know when I'll be discharged or what'll happen exactly once I'm released, but I'll be sure to let you know. They say my mood has been too unsteady to know for sure, which, like, is fine. I like it better here than at home, anyway."

"Any news on your mother?" Yeosang asks, his mind traveling back to his own.

"She's not inpatient like me, but she's in an outpatient program. After they told her what I did, I guess she voluntarily started going."

Voluntarily. "I... I was honestly surprised when they told me she was willing to go," Mingi says timidly. "I didn't think she would. I guess... I was so used to her hating me that I thought she didn't want anything to do with me. I don't really know what to think anymore, like... I don't know if she really hated me or if she thought she did. I know she always blamed me for my father leaving, but... I don't know." He sniffles and coughs lightly. "I want to know how she really feels. I want to be able to live with her again."

"Whatever happens, I'll be there for you. Promise." Yeosang smiles to himself, though there are more tears now. He doesn't know when they started falling. He feels like he should start paying attention. It might be important.

"Thank you, Yeosang. You've been a really good friend to me," Mingi says, sounding on the verge of tears. "I talked to Yunho yesterday, briefly. He said things are really crazy with him right now and he doesn't have a lot of time to talk."

"Where is he?"

"He's staying at a relative's house a few hours away while they sort out legal issues with his father," Mingi says. "He's in jail right now, but chances are he's going to receive a sentence and he'll be put in prison for several years."

Yeosang feels the tiniest bit of relief at the news, but he still worries for Yunho. Will he have to move away? Live with this relative permanently? When Yeosang asks these questions, Mingi gives him an indefinite answer, saying he isn't sure either. But if there's one thing they agree on, it's that whatever happens with Yunho, they will be glad as long as he's safe.

When their conversation ends, Mingi thanks him again, and when Yeosang hangs up, his face is wet with tears. It's peculiar; not once had Mingi brought up him crying. Did Mingi even notice? Was there even a difference in his tone while his eyes leaked tears? It's so strange, how Yeosang had managed to sound as if there weren't any, but it makes him worry because has he truly become so accustomed to it that he can hide it without even being aware of it?

The thought worries him to the very core.

But the tears aren't stopping no matter how much he wipes his eyes. He doesn't know why. They should be stopping; _why aren't they stopping? _He should be grateful. He should be _so damn grateful _that Mingi is getting help and Yunho is safe. He should be happy that his parents are happy.

He should be happy that his life isn't that of anyone he knows, yet he finds himself dialing a familiar number belonging to the one whose life is the epitome of tragedy, despite Yeosang not even knowing the half of it.

"Yeosangie, have you decided yet?"

-

Hongjoong's apartment smells like citrus and cigarette smoke just like usual, but it reeks of more than just that. The cigarette odor is a lot more pungent than Yeosang remembers, but there's also something else, something he doesn't recognize. It smells a bit like skunk. His nose scrunches as soon as he walks through the door. "Hongjoong, what's that smell?"

"What smell?"

"It smells like skunk."

Hongjoong laughs, utterly amused, and says, "Yeosangie, that's weed."

"What? Really? Wait, are you—"

Hongjoong's eyes crinkle as he giggles. "No, sweetie, not at the moment, anyway. Sannie was here not too long ago; he must have helped himself."

"Wait, San was just here?" Yeosang nearly shouts.

"Just an assumption, since I got here not too long ago and I can guarantee you my apartment did not smell this strongly of weed before I left. You called me while I was still at the shop, Sangie. Had to drop all my hard work just to meet you here." Hongjoong sighs, running a hand through his hair. "So, are we dyeing your hair today or what?"

"I—"

"You look like you've been crying, dear Sangie," Hongjoong says with a pout, his cold fingers coming up to cup Yeosang's cheek. "Your eyes are all puffy. And your skin is so red from the cold. Let's warm you up, okay?"

Yet the sentence makes Yeosang shiver. Hongjoong takes him by the hand, his grip gentle, and pulls him in the direction of the bathroom. It's just as sleek and modern as the rest of the apartment, bright lights reflecting off of polished white tiles and silver accessories. There's already a stool from the kitchen placed in front of the mirror, a large, rectangular one that looks like it could really be from an actual hair salon. Hongjoong guides him to it, pushing him down onto it without actually forcing him.

"Hongjoong, do you know what you're doing?" Yeosang asks.

"Darling, who do you think does my hair?" Hongjoong replies rhetorically. "Of course I know what I'm doing."

Yeosang frowns as Hongjoong bends down to retrieve his supplies from one of the cabinets. He gets a good look at himself in the mirror for the first time in a while, the flaws and blemishes on his face even more prominent in the light. The bags under his eyes look like those of Wooyoung's without makeup. Has it really gotten this bad?

Hongjoong places a bowl, brush, a package of tin foil, and a few bottles of who-knows-what on the bathroom counter, his hands now masked by gloves. "Ready, darling?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Perfect!" Hongjoong beams, starting by combing out Yeosang's hair, parting it down the middle. "Ah, your hair's greasy. Perfect. It's like you knew this was going to happen today."

Actually, he didn't, but he doesn't entertain the notion. "So, Yeosangie, since I know you, I'm sure you are going to ask about San being here. Like I said, it's an assumption, but I might as well be right." He shifts over to his supplies and pops the cap of one of the bottles, squeezing some into the bowl. "San's been smoking a lot lately, cigarettes _and_ weed, but honestly, I wouldn't worry too much about that. You know it's a nasty habit he's not going to quit anytime soon."

"I didn't know he smoked weed. I thought it was just cigarettes," Yeosang comments. Hongjoong tears open one of the packets and empties it into the bowl. It looks to be some sort of powder. He mixes the two components, the strong smell of chemicals beginning to waft through the room.

"Well, I have a lot of it, and since he started staying with me, he's been smoking it. Not that big of a deal on my part, since I pretty much have an endless supply of it, unlike the coke that Seonghwa is still trying to buy off me. How is he, by the way? You see him at school, right?"

Yeosang can and can't believe how nonchalant Hongjoong is being. Shouldn't all of this be concerning? Drugs aren't something to be taken lightly. He knows Hongjoong could get in a lot of trouble for this, but then he vaguely remembers Hongjoong mentioning that one of his clients is a cop. "Yeah, I still see him at school. He looks like shit," Yeosang replies.

Hongjoong scoffs as he runs his gloved fingers through Yeosang's hair one more time before dipping the brush into the mixture and swiping some onto the roots. "Not surprising. He's been buying weed off of me too. He comes over so often now, and every single time he asks me if I have coke. I keep telling him, I don't have as much coke as I do weed, that I'm not a drug dealer, and..." He sighs. "He's a strange one. I give him a few grams at a time, since I don't want the poor guy to overdose on it or some shit, but I'm going to run out soon. He can't keep buying coke off of me if that's all he wants."

"Is that all he wants though? From what I remember, you told me also... you know."

"Oh, I know," Hongjoong says with a smile. The strokes of the brush get lower. He lifts up some of Yeosang's hair and brushes the mixture underneath it, still painting the roots. "He still fucks me, and he fucks me _well. _But he's always high on something when he does. In a way, I kind of understand. I had to be high a lot when I first started my business."

Yeosang doesn't even have to ask what he means by that.

"Eventually, being high started to feel like nothing," Hongjoong says. The strokes are quick, deft. He clips some of Yeosang's hair out of the way to reach the areas underneath, and places strips of foil underneath each painted chunk. Though he doesn't _really _know if Hongjoong is doing this properly, it seems like it. Yeosang has never had his hair colored, so it's not like he knows. The mixture, whatever it is, is cold and itchy against his scalp. "The first time I did it without being high, it really did feel like nothing. I grew so used to it."

"Hongjoong, you don't... you don't have to talk about it," Yeosang says.

"I don't mind, Sangie. Besides, something tells me you're curious."

Curious. Yeosang hasn't had to think about that for a while. With Yunho and Mingi's truths being out in the open, his curiosity had been put on hold, pushed to the back of his mind. Sure, he's always wondered about Hongjoong, despite being almost certain he will never understand him.

He wonders if wondering and being curious are the same thing.

"So, Yeosang, you wanted to know why I left after I said I wouldn't leave," Hongjoong states, pushing some of Yeosang's hair to the side to reach another area. "I told you, things got a bit out of hand, and because you wanted an explanation, I'll tell you what happened. When you called me, San was here at the same time I was, which is a very, very rare occurrence."

Yeosang sits up rigidly in the stool, the room seemingly growing several degrees colder. "He was completely out of his mind. Screaming at me and telling me how much he wanted to die. I don't know what he was on, if he was drunk or somehow found my coke stash. I don't know. He might not have been on anything, who knows? But he lost it on me, and while he didn't get physical or anything, I was _this _close to throwing him out onto the fucking street. I'm not about to have the neighbors complaining about a suicidal maniac screaming about how much he wants to die."

With every word, Hongjoong's tone grows more bitter. His jaw is clenched from what Yeosang can see in the mirror. Yeosang has never heard him sound like this before. "When you called, he almost seemed to calm down. He heard me say your name and it's like... like he just stopped. He stopped screaming, stopped moving. He just froze. And I left him here, because all I cared about was getting to you in that moment."

Yeosang suddenly feels guilt bubbling up in him again. "As soon as you fell asleep, I left because I was worried San was going to try something, but when I got back, he left a note saying he was sorry and that he was going to find somewhere else to sleep, and I assume he went to go stay with Wooyoung."

The name drips out of Hongjoong's mouth like poison. Several seconds of silence pass as Hongjoong folds more of Yeosang's hair into the foil. His brows are creased in either concentration or frustration, maybe both. "I haven't seen him since, Yeosang. But... when I come home and it smells strongly of cigarettes or weed, I know he's been here." His tone drops, from furious to melancholy. "Yes, it's awful. It's a terrible, nasty habit, but at least it shows me he's still alive."

Yeosang finds too much truth in that statement.

"He won't be alive for much longer if he keeps it up," Yeosang mumbles pitifully.

Hongjoong sighs, brushing on the last of the mixture. "Sadly, Sangie, that might be his goal."

Yeosang fights back tears. He's sick of them. "Why doesn't he get help? Yunho and Mingi got help, well, they're _getting_ help. Their parents were shitty. San could've done the same. Can't he still get help?"

"Yeosang, you should know by now that you can't help people who don't want to be helped," Hongjoong says, setting the bowl aside.

"Well... can we try to get him to want help?"

"If only it worked like that, sweetie."

Yeosang looks up at his reflection. His head looks ridiculous, hair a disorganized mess of foil, but from what he can see, his roots are already starting to lighten. "Wait, is this the dye?"

Hongjoong giggles. "No, sweetie. That's bleach. You have to bleach your hair in order to dye it."

"How long is this going to take?"

"Technically, it's basically a death sentence for your hair to bleach it completely and dye it in one sitting," Hongjoong says, "but I just can't wait to see you with pink hair."

Yeosang feels like his middle school self would be screaming, but for some reason, he just can't bring himself to care. He's tired. He'll let his hair turn pink if it'll make Hongjoong happy.

Because isn't that what he wants? For others to be happy, even at the cost of his own? Not that dyeing his hair pink would make him unhappy. He just really doesn't care. Still, it makes him wonder what he really wants, if he really wants people to be happy or if _he _wants to be happy. It's mind-boggling that he would even wonder the latter. Of _course_ one would strive to be happy. Shouldn't he? Shouldn't he want to be happy?

It's not at the forefront of his mind. It should be, and Yeosang thinks he knows that, but it just isn't.

There are a lot of things that _should _be. But they just _aren't._

Yeosang wishes things would change to be the way that they should be.

-

Hongjoong repeats the same process _again, _until Yeosang's hair is an unnaturally light yellow. It matches both the appearance and texture of hay. Yeosang looks at it with disgust, wondering just _why _Hongjoong thought this was going to be a good idea. He's pretty damn sure his hair is going to fall out.

"Don't worry," Hongjoong tells him, "we'll do like, five different treatments so your hair will feel like... coarse yarn instead of complete death."

Yeosang sighs lamentably. He's already come this far, no going back.

As Hongjoong soaks his hair in a "hair mask" for the second time, he leans back on the counter and lets out a deep breath. "Yeosang, are you happy?"

"No," Yeosang scoffs almost instantly. Figures there's no use in lying to Hongjoong. "Of course not."

Hongjoong hums, standing up slightly. "What's stopping you?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I asked you first." Hongjoong smiles at him coyly. "Come on, Sangie. I'm just trying to make casual, passively suicidal conversation."

Yeosang just sighs, too tired to argue. "I don't know. Them. Everyone."

"Everyone? You mean Yunho and Mingi?"

"And San, Wooyoung... even Seonghwa."

"Ah. Am I thrown in the mix as well?" Hongjoong asks, a sort of playfulness to his tone.

"Do you think you are?" Yeosang counters, deciding that two can play at Hongjoong's game.

The navy blue-haired man smirks, mischievousness glinting in his green contacts. "I," Hongjoong begins, hooking a single finger under Yeosang's chin and tilting his head up, "do believe I have some sort of effect on you." Despite not being that much taller than him while he's sitting down, Hongjoong seems to tower over him. His eyes burn straight into Yeosang's, his plump lips curved at both ends as he looks at him with what seems to be admiration. "Oh, Sangie. You're too beautiful to be so sad."

Yeosang looks away and swallows, his throat suddenly dry. There's a familiar feeling rising behind his eyes, but he blinks rapidly in an attempt to dispel the tears. "That's what he said to me," Hongjoong says.

"Who?" Yeosang asks, still not looking up.

"My father's coworker."

In that moment, it's as if Yeosang loses all moisture in his body. The tears seem to dry up, his throat feeling like it's swelling with dehydration, but he knows that's not the case. It renders him speechless, and still unable to look Hongjoong in the eyes. Instead, he breathes. In and out.

"He said I was pretty," Hongjoong says, finally removing his finger from underneath Yeosang's chin. He motions for Yeosang to put his head in the sink to wash out the mask, and wordlessly, Yeosang follows his direction. As Hongjoong begins massaging the mask out of Yeosang's hair, he sighs deeply, head tilted to the side. "He asked me why I was so sad... _after _he'd fucked me into my parents' bed."

Yeosang's stomach churns. "He didn't seem to understand," Hongjoong continues, "that someone would be _sad_ after being raped." He scoffs, the pressure on Yeosang's scalp growing. "What a fucking moron."

When Yeosang sits up, hair dripping with water, his head is spinning. Hongjoong quickly fluffs his hair with a towel before tossing it to the side, smiling at his work. "Ready for the dye, Sangie?"

Yeosang reaches up to his hair, scrunching it with his fingers. It's wet, definitely, and despite being soaked in a hair mask that allegedly had healing qualities, it folded effortlessly in his hand, almost like paper would. He sighs, dropping his hand back down onto his lap. "Yeah, I guess."

"Perfect!" Hongjoong smiles brightly, opening the drawer and pulling out two bottles of what Yeosang assumes to be dye. He pours two different liquids into the bowl, though Yeosang doesn't pay much attention to the process as he's trying so hard not to pass out.

He's dizzy. He wonders if it's from the chemicals. His stomach feels queasy. He should probably eat something.

Hongjoong brushes on the new concoction with care, his strokes much more precise and slow this time around. He hums quietly to himself as he does so, a tiny smile plastered on his face. Yeosang just stares straight ahead at his own reflection. It makes him feel even more sick.

"Sangie, I'm sure you're thinking right now," Hongjoong says, his smile disappearing. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"How are you so open with these things?" The question slips out like it means nothing.

Hongjoong just chuckles and shakes his head. "Oh, Sangie. You're worried about me, aren't you?"

Yeosang just nods. "There's no need to worry about me, darling. I'm past all of that," Hongjoong says.

"What do you mean?"

"Worrying," Hongjoong answers. Like he did with the bleach, he lifts Yeosang's hair and brushes the dye underneath the top layers of his hair. "There's no sense in worrying, my dear. Worrying does nothing but hurt you."

"I can't help it," Yeosang mumbles.

"I know, sweetie. I know," Hongjoong says. "I was a lot like that. Worried all the time about everything. Just had so much pent up anxiety and trauma, felt like everything was just caving in, and one day... it all just stopped."

"What happened? What changed?" Yeosang asks.

He regrets asking as soon as he hears the answer.

"My father banished me from the family."

It's as if all of Yeosang's organs drop to the fucking floor. His stomach and intestines twist in knots and strangle his bones. His heart stops beating and plummets fifty stories down. His blood freezes solid, sending shivers down his spine and all of his limbs. The only thing that remains is his brain, horrified and disgusted.

"You'd think after a claim like that, your family would believe you," Hongjoong says as he continues to brush dye onto Yeosang's head. "Instead, my father disowned me. Called me nothing but a spoiled, attention-seeking, poor excuse for a son, trying to ruin him and his work by making such allegations against his coworker."

"Hongjoong, you don't—"

"And it's like my mother didn't give a shit. She just let it happen, sided with my father, even, all to protect the fucking family name and fortune," Hongjoong continues on, his voice monotone and expression flat. "Only then did I realize that there was no point in worrying. After all that worrying, debating on whether or not I should tell somebody, crying and cutting myself on the bathroom floor... it was all pointless in the end. Nothing changed. In fact, things only got worse."

"Hongjoong, stop—"

"It's okay, Yeosang," Hongjoong asserts, and it's so goddamn familiar. It sounds the exact same as the first time, as if Hongjoong has spent countless days steeling himself enough to say it convincingly, but Yeosang knows that things are everything _but _okay. It will never be okay. Yeosang can't see Hongjoong's eyes, as he's looking down to put the dye on Yeosang's hair, but he can imagine they look the same as well.

Beautiful despair.

"Like I said, worrying is pointless. I know I can't control whether or not you worry about me, but I can assure you, Sangie, there is absolutely no use in worrying about me."

Because nothing will change. Yeosang has a gut wrenching feeling that that is the truth. Hongjoong's truth.

"I guess you could say I can relate to San," Hongjoong says. "A shithead of a father, a careless, backstabbing bitch of a mother... I sympathize with him. Perhaps... perhaps I don't want him to end up like me."

_What does that entail? What does 'being like him' entail?_

Yeosang has a pretty good idea.

"He deserves to see more of the world. He did absolutely nothing to deserve getting kicked out like that. He should be happy, still living at home, still... _feeling_," Hongjoong grits, finally emptying the bowl as he brushes on the last few globs of dye. "But as the days go on, it gets harder and harder to see that being the reality. I see nothing for him in the future."

"Hongjoong..."

"_Especially _if he keeps that shit up with Wooyoung. They're no good for each other. San's no good, and he'll only bring Wooyoung down with him. I don't know much about Wooyoung, but if he's truly starving himself and making himself throw up like you said he does, then—"

"Hongjoong, _stop_!"

Yeosang's plea takes Hongjoong by surprise; his eyes widen and his mouth slowly falls open. "Please, stop, Hongjoong," Yeosang murmurs, his tears returning to the surface. They fall almost instantly, as if it was Hongjoong's talking holding them back. Perhaps that is truly the case. "You... I know you're hurting. Just... you—"

"I understand," Hongjoong says, setting the brush down in the bowl. He removes his plastic gloves and throws them away, running his hands down his thighs as if to wipe them. He looks at Yeosang in the mirror, who's sobbing yet completely still, and sighs. "The dye needs to sit for a half hour. I'll... I'll be back then."

Before Yeosang can get a word out, Hongjoong is already out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, and slamming another one somewhere else in the apartment. Yeosang finally stops looking at himself in the mirror once his head falls into his hands, and he cries. He cries until his hands are soaked and his face feels like it's on fire. He cries until his chest feels like it's been shot and his brain pulses in his skull. Yet he cries silently, just as he imagines Hongjoong does, because he doesn't want anybody to know he's hurting.

He wonders if Hongjoong even cries.

It's a strange phenomenon. There is nobody else in the apartment except Hongjoong. Yeosang knows Hongjoong knows he is hurting, yet he still cries at a minimal volume. He wonders why, when he _doesn't have anything to lose. _He wants to cry. He wants to _cry, _let everything go, because there is too much and Yeosang can feel it all and all his worries are swallowing his body whole like the ocean swallows the sand, as if he is becoming one with his worries, a walking vessel of nothing but guilt and anxious affliction. He wants to let it all out, _all of it, _but something is stopping him and it's _suffocating._

He cries. He cries until his face is sticky with dried tears. He cries until his head is fuzzy, his eyes bleary and swollen. He cries until nothing comes out but a few sniffles here and there, until his heart slows and beats feebly in his chest.

He cries until he feels nothing.

It's then that he realizes that Hongjoong probably doesn't cry anymore.

-

Hongjoong is silent as he rinses the dye out from Yeosang's hair, but his face immediately lights up at the result.

"Beautiful, Sangie," he sighs. He guides Yeosang in front of the mirror.

Yeosang almost can't believe what he's seeing. His hair gone from completely black to a pastel pink, a stark contrast to what he's used to. His mouth drops open as he reaches up to feel it. It still feels coarse, but he has to admit, he really likes the color.

"Just one more treatment and you should be all set," Hongjoong tells him.

Hongjoong puts on another hair mask, but he doesn't stick around afterwards. He puts it on and leaves again. Yeosang doesn't cry. He sits on the stool and waits another twenty minutes for the mask to soak in. Apparently, this one is one that he's supposed to leave in and let dry, yet Hongjoong is still leaving him alone. He wonders why.

When Hongjoong returns after twenty minutes, it's quite apparent why.

Hongjoong guides him to stand, smiling as he does so. His hair is still damp, but it's starting to dry. The color seems to have gotten more vivid as well. Surprisingly, Yeosang doesn't entirely hate it. Hongjoong takes his hand, still smiling at him, his green eyes gleaming and the whites of his eyes tinged pink.

He smells like what Yeosang has discovered to be weed.

"Isn't it gorgeous, Yeosangie?" Hongjoong asks, voice sugary sweet. He rests his chin on Yeosang's shoulder, mouth dangerously close to his neck. He doesn't seem to be acting _that _different, but there's still an uneasy feeling in Yeosang's gut.

"It's... it's good. I like it, actually," Yeosang admits.

"See? I have quite a knack for knowing what looks good." Hongjoong giggles, his hands coming up to hold Yeosang's upper arms. "_You _look good, Sangie."

"Hongjoong, I don't think—"

"Come with me, Sangie," Hongjoong whispers against his ear. The sensation makes Yeosang's entire body tingle. "I want to show you something."

Yeosang finds himself following, hand in hand with Hongjoong as the smaller leads him to the next room over. It's a single bedroom, a full-sized mattress covered in pillows and all sorts of blankets placed right in the middle of the room. There isn't much in terms of decorations, just one side table with a lit up lamp and a couple shelves hanging from the walls. There are objects propped on them that Yeosang can't identify, but he doesn't have the mental capacity to wonder what they are.

Not when Hongjoong is guiding him to sit on the bed.

"Sorry about earlier, darling," Hongjoong says, his head slotting between Yeosang's neck and shoulder. "I tend to talk a lot when I'm stressed. You do the same, don't you? I kind of remember you doing that."

"Y-Yeah."

"You're smart, so I'm sure you know that I just helped myself to a little bit of weed. I hope that's okay with you," Hongjoong says.

Yeosang has a feeling it was more than just a little, but he nods anyway. "Yeah, that's fine."

"Would you like to try some?" Hongjoong offers, bending down and pulling out a bag from underneath his mattress. It's filled with clumps of what just looks like mushed up grass and moss to Yeosang, but he knows that's not what it is, and he's not interested in trying it. He shakes his head and looks away. "Ah, what a good boy. Such a good, pure soul."

"I'm not," Yeosang mutters.

"Mm, I beg to differ," Hongjoong hums as he nuzzles into Yeosang's neck again, nose pressed up against his ear, lips brushing over the lobe. "You're so _good, _Yeosang."

Yeosang lets out a shaky breath, his skin erupting with goosebumps as Hongjoong's hand slides down his chest. It stops at his hip as Hongjoong lowers his head to press a kiss to Yeosang's shoulder, then his neck, then his jaw, each one setting Yeosang's skin on fire more so than the last. He shudders underneath Hongjoong's touch.

"Sangie," Hongjoong sighs into his skin, "you haven't had your first kiss yet, right?"

Yeosang is surprised to remember that no, he hasn't, despite already having received a blowjob from none other than Hongjoong himself, the one who's whispering lust into his skin, setting his body aflame, and devastating him, all at the same time. He shakes his head, feeling ashamed that Hongjoong even _asked_, despite already having given him head.

He doesn't know why _he's _the one who feels ashamed.

"Ah, how rude of me," Hongjoong says. With two fingers, he gently touches Yeosang's cheek and turns his head until their faces are mere centimeters apart. "Sangie, will you let me kiss you?'

For some reason beyond Yeosang's current state of mind, he nods. Hongjoong smiles before leaning in, pressing his forehead against Yeosang's. The rest of his fingers cup Yeosang's cheek as he pulls him in even more, capturing his lips in his kiss.

Yeosang's head goes blank. Hongjoong doesn't taste the way he smells, which confuses Yeosang slightly. He tastes like something Yeosang can't even begin to describe. He's pretty sure it's not weed. It's just... Hongjoong. His lips are soft, moving slowly against Yeosang's as if his lips would fall apart, his hand sliding down his neck, down his chest, landing on his thigh. Yeosang attempts to move his lips in sync with Hongjoong's, wondering why he's trying in the first place.

His brain almost seems to short-circuit from Hongjoong's lips on his and the hand creeping in between his legs, palming at his crotch. Yeosang sighs into the kiss, eyes shut tight, as he feels his cock twitch under Hongjoong's touch.

"Yeosang," Hongjoong purrs once he pulls away, "I can show you so many amazing things, if you'd let me."

"W-What, exactly?" Yeosang asks, though he feels like he already knows the answer.

Hongjoong chuckles against his ear, his hand on Yeosang's growing erection pressing harder. "I want you to fuck me, Yeosangie."

Yeosang's next breath hitches in his throat, and he nearly chokes on nothing. Hongjoong's sultry voice, his lips continuing to trail downward past his jaw, into the sensitive skin of his neck, all of it is sending Yeosang's head further and further into the clouds, his judgement hazy and eyelids hooded. He feels high without having smoked anything.

He wonders if _this _is Hongjoong's effect on him.

"You don't have to do anything," Hongjoong whispers. "Just let me take care of everything."

Just like the first time.

"Are you curious?" he asks.

And Yeosang can't lie, he is. He is curious. He's curious what it feels like to have sex. It's strange, however, that he's only curious in this moment, when Hongjoong is carefully opening his pants and sliding his hand inside. He nods.

He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't. He hasn't been curious about sex in so long; why now of all times? Why now, when both of them are vulnerable and Hongjoong is high?

He should stop. He knows this isn't good for either of them. Hongjoong needs to rest. _He _needs to rest. He needs to go home. He should be in bed, doing homework, doing _something _other than having a prostitute touch him in ways that he hasn't been curious about before this.

"Just lie back, Yeosangie," Hongjoong coos, gently pushing down on Yeosang's chest before climbing on top of him.

He needs to say something.

But Hongjoong's hands are running down his sides, under his shirt, fingers touching the rough scars on his ribs, and for once, they don't hurt. Hongjoong's touch is light, hesitant, almost. He thumbs graze over Yeosang's nipples, back down again, and one of his hands disappears into Yeosang's underwear and grabs a hold of his hardened length.

He needs to say something. He needs to tell Hongjoong to stop.

"Tell me if you want me to stop."

He needs to tell Hongjoong to stop, but he doesn't.

He doesn't say a word as Hongjoong removes his own shirt, but leaves Yeosang's on. He doesn't say anything when Hongjoong fingers himself open for him and slides a condom onto his cock. He lets Hongjoong sink down on him, encasing him in his tight heat. He lets Hongjoong take his virginity, high on marijuana and numbness, and finally, Yeosang feels like he understands.

The sex is numbing.

He feels, says, _thinks _nothing. Not when all he can focus on is the hot tightness that Hongjoong gives him, his body moving in all sorts of directions above him. Hongjoong is hard, leaking onto Yeosang's exposed abdomen, letting out consistent mewls and moans as he bounces on Yeosang's cock, head thrown back in ecstasy.

"You feel so good, Sangie," he moans. "So, so good."

If Yeosang could think right now, he'd be wondering what makes him so good in Hongjoong's mind.

"You're so beautiful," Hongjoong says, his voice breaking, just like the rest of him. "So beautiful, Sangie. F-Fuck."

It feels good. Yeosang can't deny it. His mouth is open, occasionally letting out soft, rapid moans and gasping for air. With each snap of Hongjoong's hips, he feels himself getting closer to his climax, wondering if Hongjoong is feeling the same way.

"You fuck me so good, Sangie. S-So much better," Hongjoong cries.

_So much better than the men who see him as nothing but a body._

"So good."

Yeosang sees them, the scars. They range from a paler shade of Hongjoong's natural skin color to dark, angry reds and browns. They're everywhere at the tops of his thighs and even some on his hipbones, much like Yeosang's, but these... these were done with the intention of _hurting. _Hongjoong _wanted _these to hurt. None of them are fresh, but to think Hongjoong caused such damage to himself that the scars _look _like they could be fresh... the thought terrifies Yeosang. When Hongjoong's clients see them, what do they think? Do they even care? He assumes not. After all, Hongjoong is just a prostitute to them. Who cares if he's tried to destroy his body in the past? He's still destroying it, just in another, much different way.

When Yeosang comes, he swears he feels a tear slip down his cheek.

Hongjoong stills on top of him, hand quickly finishing himself off to his own orgasm. He's _loud, _his final moan long and lewd as he releases onto Yeosang's stomach, panting hard as his head falls in front of him. He breathes deeply, in and out, a couple times before he finally pulls himself off of Yeosang, removing the condom, tying it and promptly tossing it in a bin next to the bed.

He takes care of everything. As Yeosang lies still, Hongjoong gets up to grab a wet washcloth to wipe themselves down. He puts his clothes back on and slides Yeosang's pants back up his legs. He zips them back up, buttons them, and redoes the belt. He swings his legs over the bed and sits at the edge, silent and motionless.

He takes care of everything. He supplies San with a warm place to come back to, though San doesn't utilize it. He runs a convenience store by himself. He pleasures people for money and doesn't receive any in return. He gives Seonghwa cocaine and sex. He took Yeosang's virginity.

_He takes care of everything, but is not taken care of._

The deafening silence is interrupted by an explosive knock at the door. It makes Yeosang sit up abruptly, though Hongjoong only sends him a quick look and says, "Don't move."

It shakes Yeosang to the core, but Hongjoong just stands and exits the room, closing the door behind him. Yeosang doesn't waste any time in standing up and padding over to the close door, pressing his ear against it. He hears the front door open.

"Seonghwa, what are you doing here?"

"Hongjoong, please, I—"

"You didn't make an arrangement. I'm not open at the moment."

"Hongjoong, I just, I... I need to talk to you."

"Seonghwa, now isn't the time. Hey, Seonghwa!"

There are heavy footsteps. "Seonghwa, do _not _make me call the cops!"

"And what, have them come in and realize you're a drug dealing prostitute? Get you arrested and thrown in prison?"

"What the _fuck_, Seonghwa?"

"Remember your place here, _whore._"

Yeosang bursts through the bedroom door, his heart racing and palms clammy with sweat. Seonghwa is standing in the middle of the living room, dressed in a gray hoodie and matching gray sweatpants, hair hidden underneath a black beanie, a face mask pulled down beneath his chin. He turns around at the sound of Yeosang entering, his eyes bulging out at the sight of his classmate. "What—you! You're in my history class! What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Yeosang retorts, scowling.

"Yeosang, I told you to stay in there," Hongjoong says solemnly, his face having gone from blissed out to alert and ready for conflict, which Yeosang hopes doesn't happen.

"I'm not going to let Seonghwa just barge in here and call you that," Yeosang says.

Seonghwa scoffs. "In case you didn't already know, he _is _one, technically."

"And last time I checked, you were taking up his services. What the hell does that make you, Park?" Yeosang spits, finding himself stepping closer to his classmate.

"That's _enough_!" Hongjoong exclaims, inserting himself in between Seonghwa and Yeosang before anything can escalate. "Both of you need to get the fuck out of here, _now._"

Yeosang looks at Hongjoong in shock, and to his surprise, Seonghwa's expression matches his own. Hongjoong's eyes look different this time. They're no longer drowsy and lustful as they'd been before. They're panicked, wide, yet so tired at the same time. If Yeosang squints, perhaps it even looks like he's on the verge of tears. It makes Yeosang take a step back, his posture straightening as he turns on his heels to grab his coat from inside Hongjoong's room.

He doesn't even bother saying goodbye to either of them as he storms out of Hongjoong's apartment.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why does he even bother with Hongjoong? He should delete his number. There's no sense in talking to him, hanging out with him. Yeosang doesn't even want to _know _him anymore. His face burns with anger as he paces down the street, back in the direction of his home. Each step feels like it's sending a shockwave up his spine. It hurts. His legs ache and his face is on fire but he's not stopping, _nothing _is stopping, but for some reason, there are no tears.

He's had enough.

He's so sick and tired of crying. Maybe, no, _certainly,_ Hongjoong feels this way. There's no point in worrying. There's no point in _caring. _It brings him nothing but excessive amounts of pain. He doesn't want to care. He wants to be _done. _He wants everything to stop.

It's not stopping, and it's not _going to_, because the universe doesn't change for anybody.

-

"Yeosang, wait!"

When Yeosang hears the voice, he doesn't register whose it is. He just keeps walking, as he should, because he wants to be _done, _but there's a sudden, harsh grip on his shoulder, and he's practically forced to turn around. In front of him stands Seonghwa, out of breath and eyes wild. "Please, stop. I... I just want to talk to you."

"That's what you said to Hongjoong, and then you called him a whore. Why the fuck should I stop to listen to you?" Yeosang bites back, already trying to turn back around.

He's maybe three steps in when Seonghwa lets out a pitiful, "I don't have anyone else."

It makes Yeosang stop dead in his tracks. He knows this is a bad idea. Who knows what Seonghwa could be on? Him barging into Hongjoong's apartment uninvited certainly doesn't spell sober or sane. For all he know, he could die tonight at the hands of none other than Park Seonghwa, and he'd already see it coming.

He turns around with the thought that if Seonghwa did kill him, he wouldn't entirely mind. The thought crosses his mind like a bullet train.

"What?" Yeosang says, jaw clenched.

Seonghwa doesn't respond; he simply walks ahead of Yeosang, as if motioning for Yeosang to follow him. Exasperated, Yeosang tags along, rolling his eyes as he walks alongside Seonghwa.

When it comes time to cross the bridge, Yeosang realizes just how often he's crossed it. To see Hongjoong of all people, not even San. The walk is really out of his way, and for what? A visit to someone who doesn't give a shit?

Moreover, shouldn't Seonghwa have taken his fancy car or something? Did Seonghwa walk to Hongjoong's place too? Why?

"I'm... sorry, for the way I behaved back there," Seonghwa starts as they walk together along the narrow sidewalk of the bridge. "Things got really rough at home, and I guess I just... panicked. Went straight to Hongjoong's without even thinking about it, didn't even bother taking the car."

Yeosang simply hums. At least he apologized, but Yeosang isn't the one he should be apologizing to.

"It's so weird. Like, I go to Hongjoong's place because I'm having a fucking anxiety attack, because I _need _him, and then I go and barge in uninvited and insult him." Seonghwa lets out a shaky breath, a cloud of vapor appearing underneath the dim streetlights. He's a few steps ahead of Yeosang, his strides becoming shorter and shorter as he nears the center of the bridge, until he eventually comes to a full stop and rests his arms on the railing. It reminds Yeosang of someone. "I'm such a fucking failure, Yeosang."

Now _that_ is something Yeosang never expected to hear from Park Seonghwa's mouth.

"I'm so, so sick of everything. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude to you or Hongjoong or anybody. I just... I'm so fucking scared."

"Of what?" Yeosang asks, standing near but not next to him, arms crossed.

"Everything," Seonghwa answers, eyes gazing down at the water. It's completely silent. The sound of the water moving is simply white noise. "My family... they don't give a shit about me, anyway. The people at school, none of them care. No one would notice if I just... disappeared." His gaze remains stagnant on the water. "When I'm with Hongjoong... it's like, I don't know. I feel like he understands me. I'll just be so fucked up and break down and he'll just sit there and _listen _and tell me that he knows where I'm coming from, because his family was rich and prestigious too before they disowned him."

"He told you that?"

Seonghwa nods. "It was... I don't remember when, exactly. I was with him at his place, we were high, and I just broke down and started crying and I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop crying, couldn't stop talking, either. Everything just poured out of me." He pauses, tongue briefly passing between his lips. "Maybe it's because I knew he didn't have anyone to tell. He couldn't spread it around the school and ruin my name. He was the only one I could tell, and when I told him about my family, that's when he told me about his."

So Hongjoong can sympathize with Seonghwa as well, not just San. Even so, it surprises Yeosang that Hongjoong would open up to Seonghwa that quickly, _and _of all people.

"I'm sure you know all this shit about me now," Seonghwa says. "I mean, after the way I behaved towards you at school... it's not that hard to put all the pieces together. And you and Hongjoong seem pretty close, so I assume you know about... all the other stuff."

"That you fuck Hongjoong while you're high on cocaine and that you also buy it off of him?" Yeosang inquires rhetorically.

"Y-Yeah. That." Seonghwa's head dips, his eyes squeezing shut and lips pressing into a thin line. "I know I have issues, Yeosang. I _know. _I don't need you or Hongjoong or anybody else to tell me that I do. It's just... I feel so fucking trapped. If I went to somebody, they'd just look at me like... how could _the _Park Seonghwa be mentally ill? What kind of bullshit is he trying to bring upon the Park name? I've been dealing with all of this shit for so long, Yeosang. Always having to be somebody that I'm not because if I'm not perfect, I might as well be fucking dead."

For some reason, Yeosang thinks of San. "Every single fucking day, I have to act like I'm somebody. That I'm important because I'm my father's son. Because I can't be anything below the Park standard, or else I'd be a disgrace to the family. It's so ironic, honestly. My family doesn't give two shits about me as a person. If I continue to act the way I do and try to bring good things to the family name, then at best, they give me money for shit. If I dirty the name, they'd probably disown me and kick me the fuck out. If they don't give a shit about me to begin with, why not kick me out already so I can just fucking die?"

"Seonghwa—"

It's reminding him all too much of San, but Yeosang remembers. San was scared too, and he probably still is. But when Yeosang met him on the bridge, it was almost as if San was trying his hardest to hold on, like he didn't want to drown. He wanted to understand why his father abandoned him the way he did. He wanted to try and live. He _was _trying.

All of them are, Yeosang realizes, because that's really the only thing they _can _do. Whether they succeed or not is not up to them.

"It's not like they'd miss me anyway," Seonghwa says, his voice beginning to tremble. "I can't even remember the last time either of my parents said they loved me, or hugged me, or spent time with me in ways that weren't business related. It's always just business business business with them, because that what our family name is built upon. Meanwhile, their son is a fucked up piece of shit who can't go a single day without wishing he were dead."

With each word, his voice grows louder yet shakes much more noticeably. It reminds Yeosang of someone.

"I... I leave the house a lot because it's not like my parents would care anyway. Of course, I hide my face in case someone recognizes me. I crossed the bridge one day, came across the convenience store and stopped in to buy a pack of gum and that's how I met Hongjoong. He just... intrigued me. He just seemed so carefree, like there wasn't anything holding him down, and I saw that and wished I could be like that. From the moment I met him, I was enamored."

Yeosang knows that isn't true. Hongjoong is carefree, maybe, but there is plenty holding him down, whether Hongjoong admits it or not. After all, Yeosang had seen just a snippet of it. There is no way Seonghwa would want to be like Hongjoong if Seonghwa knew the reasons why Hongjoong doesn't cry anymore.

"When I found out what he was, I still didn't care. I still felt drawn to him. And yeah, I did use his services. I paid him a lot more than what he charged because he deserves it. He deserves so much more than what he gets, Yeosang. Hongjoong... he's the most compassionate person I've met in my entire life."

Yeosang doesn't know how much truth that statement holds. If that's what Seonghwa thinks, then the people he's known in his life must be fucking cruel. But in a way, Yeosang gets it. After all, Yeosang was the one who spilled all of his secrets, his truths, _their _truths, to Hongjoong, because like Seonghwa said, _he has no one else to tell._

He does, however, agree that Hongjoong deserves so much more than what he gets. He thinks that about everyone.

It seems as if nobody gets the hand of cards that they deserve.

"I know, I know, I get fucked up every time I see him. There isn't a day I see him where I'm not high on something, and I know I'm getting dependent on coke. That's what you see at school, Yeosang. You see it, you know what it is. Everyone else, they might see it, but they don't know what it is, and they don't care."

Yeosang does agree with that.

"No one cares until something happens," Seonghwa says. "No one pays attention until something drastic happens. What will it take for someone to just... notice?"

Yeosang wants to tell him, _I notice, _but there's something restraining his words, something that Yeosang has never experienced before. It's not fear, which is what it usually is. Why does he feel so discouraged? Seonghwa wants to die, that much is clear. Shouldn't Yeosang be _saying something_?

_Why isn't he saying anything this time?_

"Not a day goes by where I don't think about jumping off this fucking bridge," Seonghwa says. "Because maybe then, people would give a shit."

"You wouldn't get the satisfaction of knowing that, though," Yeosang mumbles, his words finally catching up with him.

Seonghwa turns his head, but doesn't look at him. "I guess, yeah. You're right. But at this point, that's not what matters."

"Then what does?"

"Nothing. Nothing matters," Seonghwa says with a shrug. "That's why... that's why it would be so easy for me to die."

"Seonghwa—"

"It's... it's okay, Yeosang." Seonghwa looks up at him, his eyes glossed over with tears that are practically spilling over. His mouth is formed into a strained smile, and it reminds Yeosang of someone. Everything about Seonghwa in this moment is reminding Yeosang of someone. Yeosang finds himself stepping closer to his classmate, whose smile falters as he draws nearer. "I know you don't care, and that's okay. Trust me, I don't care about me either. And..."

The tears finally fall. "It would be easier if nobody cared about me in the end. That way, I can _really _die in peace." His head completely drops down, as does the rest of him, and Yeosang is there as _the _Park Seonghwa collapses into his arms.

Yeosang doesn't know how _anyone _can die in peace. Dying is dying. Sure, dying of old age in a bed surrounded by loved ones is an ideal way to go, but that is far from the reality of the majority of people. Yeosang knows this. And from what he can gather, he has a thought that Seonghwa doesn't even strive for such a death.

No. Where many people truly want to die peacefully, Seonghwa can't bring himself to even want _that._

He doesn't want to die. He wants to give up.

"I'm s-so scared, Yeosang," Seonghwa heaves, his breathing quickening. "I don't want to live, but... I d-don't want to die. I'm scared to live, and I'm scared to die."

"Maybe you just want all of it to stop," Yeosang says, because _that, _he understands.

He feels Seonghwa nods against his chest, the two of them crouched under the railing of the bridge as Yeosang holds him awkwardly in his arms. "I can't think of any other way to make it stop," Seonghwa weeps.

Yeosang imagines this is how Mingi felt.

But he has to remember, this is Seonghwa. Park Seonghwa, from a completely different walk of life, a different family, and a different upbringing. Comparing the two would be like apples to oranges. Yeosang can draw all the parallels he wants. There are plenty. But when it comes to _this_, there is nothing Yeosang can say. He has a feeling Seonghwa won't listen to him anyway.

So instead of saying something, he cradles Park Seonghwa as his body shakes with violent sobs. It reminds him all too much of San.

He wonders if Seonghwa ever learned San's name. Probably not, since San is a nobody. But then again, Seonghwa himself is a nobody masked as a somebody. They might get along in that sense, that, and their shitty families.

And Hongjoong. As Yeosang attempts to comfort Seonghwa's fragile form, he wonders if Hongjoong tends to San and Seonghwa because he sees himself in both of them. If he treats them the way he does because that's how he wishes he were treated in the past. From what Yeosang knows, Hongjoong doesn't do this for just anyone.

So what does that make Yeosang?

He shoves the thoughts aside. Seonghwa needs someone, and he is the only one who is there for him. Seonghwa fucked up. Even though Yeosang knows Hongjoong isn't the most reliable person, he hopes that Hongjoong forgives Seonghwa, because after this, Yeosang doesn't know if he'll ever be there for Seonghwa again.

Yeosang doesn't know how long they're on the bridge for. It's cold, it's dark, and still, not a single car has passed them by.

-

Yeosang almost forgets he has pink hair until the day he returns to school.

People are looking at him, which is out of the ordinary. Unsurprisingly, however, they turn away once they've seen it. It's just a change of hair color, and sure, while he may be the only person with such vibrantly colored hair, it _is _just hair. Yeosang doesn't know of any guys who have dyed their hair. Some of the girls get their hair lightened. It's just a thing.

However, he does receive some questioning looks from his teachers. Still, nobody says anything. Yeosang does have a feeling that his classmates whisper about it, but he doesn't care, and it doesn't surprise him. It's done. His hair is pink now. If he really hates it, he can dye it back to black.

He just doesn't care.

Seonghwa is absent. That part doesn't surprise him either. He doesn't even know if he cares or not. He sits through the lecture, hand scribbling down notes without really listening to the lecture itself. He doesn't even read them over after class ends.

He doesn't see Mingi or Yunho at lunch, nor does he expect to see them later in the day during class. He doesn't see Wooyoung, either.

The day is lonely again. Yeosang can't find it in himself to care.

The boys in his P.E. class are definitely judging him. He'll catch them staring at his new hair, in which case he simply stares back with an unintentionally intimidating glare. They'll stare back for a few seconds out of surprise and then look away. They don't say anything around him. He's sure that they do when he leaves, but he doesn't care.

He _doesn't care._

As he's walking home, hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets, breathing the thick, frigid air, he stops at a familiar voice that calls him something he hasn't heard in so long.

"Hyung, wait."

He freezes, his blood coming to a screeching halt in his veins, and slowly turns around to see Jongho approaching him in stride. He's not out of breath. He's not calling out Yeosang's name. He's simply walking up to him, face neutral yet serious.

"Jongho," Yeosang says, flabbergasted. "Jongho, I'm-"

"Hyung, we need to talk." The way Jongho says it is not threatening nor is it angry. It's firm, maybe with a hint of sympathy. Yeosang can't tell. He's distracted by the fact that Jongho is talking to him after what feels like forever, after Yeosang had hurt his feelings, all because he was so _tired. _He still is. Jongho shouldn't be talking to him.

Jongho deserves better.

But Jongho is also saying that they need to talk, and after what Yeosang has done, it's the least he can do.

"I... okay."

They walk side-by-side. When they pass by both of their houses, Yeosang doesn't even realize. He doesn't even register what's _happening. _Jongho is walking with him, wherever his legs are taking him. He doesn't know. His head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. It hurts. His legs hurt. Everything hurts. He continues to walk. Jongho walks with him. Why is Jongho walking with him? Jongho should be mad at him.

Before Yeosang knows it, he hears Jongho's voice again. "Hyung, what are we doing here?" It makes Yeosang stop again. It's much colder where they are now, and as Yeosang glances around, he realizes where they are.

The bridge.

The one place he never wanted Jongho to be.

"I... I don't know," Yeosang mumbles. He's standing right next to the railing, where he'd been just a few nights ago. Why is he here? Did his legs seriously drag him here without him realizing it? How could he not realize where he was going?

Jongho sighs. "I guess we can talk here, if that's what you wanted."

"If that's what I—what?"

"I was just following you, hyung," Jongho says. "You walked here. I just figured you were taking me somewhere where we could talk, and, well, we're here. So this is where you wanted to talk?"

No, it's really not, Yeosang thinks, but in this moment, he's having a hard time _thinking. _He shouldn't be here, but he's come all this way. He can't waste any more of Jongho's time. He's already a shitty friend. He can't. Do it anymore.

"I-I guess," he stammers. He stands near the railing, his back facing the river. His hands are still in his pockets as the wind from the river chills the air even further. He's pretty sure San would really freeze to death out here.

Jongho copies his stance, pressing his back against the railing. He lets out a deep breath before saying, "Hyung, I'm really, really worried about you."

It takes Yeosang a couple seconds. His brain feels both numb and overstimulated at the same time, and he doesn't know how that could be. "I'm sorry." He can't even _look _at Jongho. He just stares straight ahead at the opposite end of the bridge, where there's more water and a slightly different view of the dreary, overcast sky. It's already getting dark, especially now that there's no sun.

"Hyung, don't be sorry," Jongho laughs humorlessly. "I know, I _know _you've been going through a tough time. I see it every single day. You look so tired all the time, like you're not sleeping, a-and the last time I saw you, you..." He pauses, sighing. "You just... you weren't yourself. I was worried that I was going to say something wrong, o-or that I would strike a nerve and make you upset. I just... I was trying so hard to like, ignore it. Th-That's not exactly the word I want to use, but do you know what I mean? I knew something was wrong, hyung, but I was just... I was scared."

Jongho was _scared. _The words don't make sense to Yeosang. Jongho, the strongest person Yeosang has ever known, whose strength competes with that of a professional athlete, was scared?

"I didn't say anything because I didn't want you to get more upset, but... seeing you today just, I don't know. Seeing that you dyed your hair, it's just... really unlike you, I guess. Everyone was talking about it, and like... I don't know."

"I'm sorry," Yeosang says, because he can't think of anything else to say.

"God, don't be sorry, Yeosang-hyung!" Jongho exclaims, voice echoing slightly. "I'm worried _sick _about you. No offense, but you look like shit. You keep on saying you're tired because you've been studying, but I honestly seriously doubt that. You're barely eating, aren't you? I swear, you've lost weight since the last time we hang out, and it shows. Maybe not everyone notices it, but _I _do, hyung. I _know _you. You're not yourself, hyung. And... I just feel so fucking powerless knowing that I can't _do _anything!"

Jongho's voice cracks. It makes Yeosang finally face him, but he doesn't do the same. His lip quivers, eyes shiny. "I'm sorry, Yeosang-hyung. I'm sorry that I haven't said anything or done anything. I've been such a shitty friend, I know—"

"No, Jongho," Yeosang interjects, his voice breaking as well. "You... trust me, you do so much for me. W-When we last hung out, when you asked me to go see the sunrise with you and I didn't because I was tired... and then we just stopped talking, I th-thought you hated me."

Jongho faces him now, his face twisting in shock. "You're kidding, right? Hyung, I couldn't hate you, ever. You've been there for me so many times, a-and I couldn't do the same for you. I thought the best I could do was give you space, b-but it only seemed to do you more harm than good. I should've been there for you."

"And I should've been there for you, to see those sunrises—"

"Hyung," Jongho says, "it's _freezing _in the mornings now and the sun barely rises by the time school starts. I don't watch the sunrises anymore. Actually, I haven't watched one since the last time I saw you."

"O-Oh."

Jongho sighs deeply, lips pressing together in a thin line. "Yeosang-hyung... I feel like you think I'm oblivious to everything."

Here it comes.

"I'm not. I'm not ignorant, I'm not oblivious. Can I be at times? Sure, but everyone is. But I _know _you. I know that you're not doing well. I just... it's so hard to see you like this. I don't know what to do. I guess today was just a breaking point. I don't hate your hair or anything like that, nor do I think any different of you, but, like, I don't know. You're just not yourself lately, hyung, and I want to be there for you like you were for me."

"What do you mean? I wasn't there for you when you wanted to watch the sunrise. I'm a shitty friend, Jongho. I honestly don't know why—"

"Hyung." Jongho fully turns his body towards him. "Do you remember the night I slept over, maybe a month ago, and I started crying because I felt like I wasn't good enough?"

Yeosang frowns as his barely functional brain tries to recollect the memory. "I... I don't..."

"I-It's okay, hyung. You probably ended up crying more that night than I did," Jongho says with a weak smile.

"What happened?"

"Well, it was late. Your parents were asleep already, and you were still up when I texted you saying I was upset. You said to come over, to stay as long as I wanted. I just started crying because I felt like I was lacking as an athlete, a-and that I didn't really like the way I looked. I don't really remember _exactly _what I told you, but that's the gist of it. And you just started crying too, telling me how amazing I was, that I was the best athlete you know, how glad you were that I was your friend, and the next thing I knew, you were crying even when I stopped."

How does Yeosang not remember this? Jongho said this happened a month ago. _How does he not remember this?_

"Y-You said that you wished you could take my pain away, even when it wasn't really _that _bad," Jongho says. "I remember you saying that, and you just looked so sad."

_How does he not remember this?_

"Hyung, you feel too much. You were so distraught over me, like you were letting it affect you, and... I bet that's what's been going on. There's something affecting you, and that's why you've been so unlike yourself lately."

Yeosang looks down, brows furrowed as his eyes shut tightly, trying to remember.

"I want to help, hyung. I'm so sick of pretending like I don't know what's going on. While I may not know _exactly _what's going on, I'm not blind or naïve to these things. I _know_ you're hurting. Please, just... let me help in whatever way I can."

The water is much louder this time around, and so is Yeosang's voice.

He speaks. He says everything. He says everything that he didn't, everything that he should have. The words spill out of him like a fucking waterfall, some of which definitely don't entirely make sense, but Yeosang can't help it. It's a jumbled mess, just like his head. He talks about San, where _it _had all started. He tells Jongho the _real _reason why San looked so tired all the time and stopped going to school. He tells Jongho how Yunho _really _got the bruise. He tells Jongho about Mingi, who Jongho might not even _know, _but he still tells the story of how he found his classmate's body nearly dead in a bathtub full of his own blood. He tells Jongho about Wooyoung and how he and San are more than just friends and how Wooyoung is probably making himself throw up. He tells him about Park Seonghwa, the suicidal cocaine addict hidden behind an esteemed family name.And he tells Jongho about Hongjoong, someone who will remain a mystery to him for the rest of his life, how he was the one who dyed his hair, took his virginity _and _his secrets, and lived carefree as he sold his body for money.

Jongho listens. His facial expression changes at some points, but he remains silent.

When Yeosang finally stops, he's out of breath, and his face is hot and soaked.

"I'm s-so fucking sorry, Jongho," Yeosang hiccups.

There are tears.

"I just... I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to know about all of these terrible things because I just want you to be happy. You don't deserve to know these things or feel the pain I do. I just w-want you to live a good and happy life and not have to worry."

Jongho bows his head, his eyes closing as he sniffles. "Hyung... you don't deserve to feel the way you do, either."

Yeosang swears he's heard that before. He can't remember when, though.

"It's hard to live a truly happy life, hyung. Everyone has struggles," Jongho continues. "Everyone worries. All of this stuff, it's unavoidable. I'm... I'm so sorry to hear about San. Everyone. It's... it's a lot for you to deal with. With how you reacted to me telling you I was having self-esteem issues, I can only imagine how much all of this has been affecting you."

"It's _them, _Jongho," Yeosang cries. "They deserve better lives. And I can't... I can't _do _anything! It's like, I can _feel _how hopeless they are. I don't know what to do or what to say. I don't even know if I _can _say anything! I just, I want to do something. It's so hard to just sit back and watch all of them suffer knowing that I can at least _try _to help—"

"Hyung," Jongho interrupts, "from what you've told me, you _did _help. You fucking saved Mingi-hyung's _life. _Do you not think that was helping?"

"He was trying to make it stop; he just wanted it to stop—"

"Stop that, hyung," Jongho says, a hint of frustration laced in his tone. "You saved a _life. _Did you want Mingi to die?"

"No, of course not!"

"Maybe he was the one who wanted to die, hyung, but you allowing that to happen would've basically meant you agreed with him. You not only _helped _him, you _saved _him. Yunho-hyung too. I... had no idea Yunho-hyung was going through all of that. God, hyung, I'm so sorry that all of that was put on you."

Yeosang sniffles, wiping some of the tears from his eyes. "Maybe I put it all on myself, though."

_Maybe he did._

"Maybe that's true. I know it's difficult to watch people around you hurt. After all, hyung... it hurt seeing you hurt."

Yeosang's fists clench in his pockets. His heart contorts in his chest. Everything he tried to avoid, ended up happening. All along, it had been a two-sided game, where neither side said anything, yet both were fully aware. Yeosang feels like a fool. How could he think Jongho would remain innocent forever? How could he think Jongho could live a fully happy life when that's nearly impossible for _anyone _to achieve? Why wasn't he honest with Jongho in the first place?

"I'm so sorry, Jongho," Yeosang says. "I should have told you everything. I should have been honest with you."

"It's okay, hyung," Jongho replies. He turns around to face the water directly, to gaze out upon the cloudy horizon. Yeosang remains still and speechless.

There are a lot of things Yeosang regrets. Not talking to Jongho is one of them. Maybe if he'd talked to Jongho, let everything out to someone he's actually _close _with, just _maybe _things would've been easier to _say. _Maybe Yeosang would have had an easier time reaching out to someone about San or Wooyoung or Seonghwa. Any of them, really, apart from Hongjoong. Instead of keeping everything to himself, causing a war within his own body to the point of self-destruction, he could've _talked._

He's finally doing what he should've done all along.

It's not as difficult as he thought it would be.

He doesn't know what to do now. Should he reach out to someone? Should he tell someone about Wooyoung or Seonghwa? Even San? Who could he tell? What could be done?

In a way, there was relief after confessing everything to Jongho, but Yeosang knows better. There's still the issue of _who would care _and _what would be done. _Sure, Jongho knows everything now, but that doesn't change the fact that San is still homeless, Wooyoung still starves himself, and Seonghwa is still suicidal. Yeosang could say something. He _could._

He just doesn't know what would come of it. That doubt, that fear, it's still stopping him.

"Hyung," Jongho says suddenly.

"Yeah," Yeosang replies mindlessly, his head still reeling.

"Do you believe in Hell?"

It catches him off-guard, but Yeosang still ponders the question for a moment. He's never believed in God, nor has he ever been particularly religious in any way, so maybe he doesn't. Maybe he does. However, what he does know, is that whatever Hell is...

"Yeah," he answers.

"What do you think it's like?"

Yeosang exhales deeply, the dense air making it difficult to breathe _out, _and closes his eyes. "What we're living right now."

Maybe that's what Hell is. A neverending cycle. A constant battle within oneself with no clear resolution. Doubt. Fear. Things that should be but will never be. Whatever Hell is, Yeosang feels like it couldn't be much worse than what he's feeling. Perhaps that's the thought process behind Mingi and Seonghwa's suicidality. That things were so bad, they would rather face the true unknown than continue on. The more Yeosang thinks about it, everything is unknown. The future, good or bad, is unknown. Death is unknown. Heaven or Hell, they are unknown.

Living is nothing but dying.

With a trembling breath, Yeosang turns around to face the open blue, the breeze sending his pink hair astray, hopelessly wishing that his friends' sorrows would drown in the river beneath him.

"I think... I think Hell is the opposite of whatever we're used to."

The wind bites at his eyeballs, making him squint. It's getting dark. They should go home soon. Yeosang wishes San could go home. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"If one is used to good things, then bad things would appear in Hell. They'd be tortured."

Yeosang nods. It makes sense.

"But if one is used to bad things, maybe... maybe good things would appear. They wouldn't know what to do."

"I'm not following," Yeosang says. "Wouldn't that be Heaven?"

"Wouldn't Heaven be too easy?" Jongho questions. "Think about it. If someone lives through Hell when they're alive, so much that they'd want to end their life at the risk of them going to actual Hell, what would their torture in Hell be? Living is torture enough for them after all, right?"

Yeosang is having a hard time wrapping his head around Jongho's thinking. Maybe his way of thinking hasn't changed that much after all. Part of him thinks he understands what the younger is trying to say.

Chuckling, Jongho shakes his head. "Forget it. I guess... I guess, maybe, I'm trying to think of a good ending. If... if Mingi-hyung _had_ succeeded, whether he ended up in Heaven or Hell, I'd hope that he would be better off wherever he would've gone."

That's the Jongho Yeosang knows.

Though touched by tragedy, he still shines brightly with hope.

Yeosang realizes how morbid it is, but he agrees. Of course, he's glad that Mingi is alive, but he also knew how much Mingi suffered. If Mingi... if Mingi _did _pass on, and if Heaven and Hell truly exist, Yeosang would hope the same thing as Jongho.

The wind picks up. Both the howling of the wind and the crashing of the waves mesh into one big noise that buzzes around in Yeosang's head. The tears on his face have dried, leaving a prickling on his cheeks and a sting in his eyes. Though his heart still beats, it feels different. Yeosang doesn't know how, but he can't bring himself to try to figure it out.

Jongho walks both of them back to their homes. When they part, Jongho pulls Yeosang in for a tight hug, and he's never felt so warm and so cold at the same time. Jongho tells him that he will always be there no matter what, and even _begs _him to reach out. Yeosang nods and says he will, even though he knows he can't promise it.

Yeosang goes inside. The house is dark, but it's warm.

He sits down somewhere. He's pretty sure he eats. He thinks he showers. He's vaguely certain he tucks himself into bed that night.

Something in his brain is screaming at him to _remember_, but he just can't seem to, and he can't figure out why. He doesn't even remember what he's supposed to remember.

Something is wrong with him. He feels it.

And for a multitude of reasons, he doesn't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi everyone. i know this chapter was super long, probably the longest one yet. this fic actually has only three more chapters left, can you believe it? we're in the final stretch here! i hope to finish the fic by the end of the year; hopefully it being almost done motivates me to get it done quicker haha
> 
> i do just want to give a warning: the last three chapters are... well, i don't want to spoil anything, but just be prepared for more angst. heavy angst. because that's all i know how to write.
> 
> feel free to reach out to me:  
[twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmicwoosan)  
[cc](https://curiouscat.me/cosmicwoosan)


	9. fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for mentions of eating disorders, suicidal thoughts, panic attacks, and suicide. there is no actual suicide scene, but a suicide does occur. please be safe <3

Yeosang finally sees Wooyoung three days later, and nothing has changed. In fact, things only look worse.

Yeosang didn't know it was possible for Wooyoung to look so pale. He's always known Wooyoung to have much darker skin in comparison to some of his classmates, but his skin tone rivals that of someone who hasn't seen the sun in weeks. The bags under his eyes have darkened to a point where not even makeup can conceal it, but it seems like he's completely given up on masking it anyway. What's more, he's _skinny_; his uniform swallows him and his neck thins out towards the bottom. His shirt has grown so loose that it hangs beneath his collarbone, which conspicuously protrudes in a sickly unnatural way. Yeosang has _never _seen Wooyoung like this.

He should say something. It would be so, so easy to tell somebody. He now knows the social worker; he could tell her. Maybe she could get Wooyoung some help. Then again, Yeosang has a feeling that Wooyoung would probably deny it until the day his body decides to collapse from exhaustion and malnourishment.

He should say something. Tell somebody. He wracks his brains for words of encouragement, because he swears he knows of some, but he just can't seem to remember them. He's so distracted, seeing Wooyoung like that. The younger is standing in the line, only to end up purchasing a bottle of water and walking straight out of the lunchroom. Yeosang watches his every move until he disappears from his vision. He wonders where Wooyoung even goes.

Now that Mingi is absent, there's no way he can keep tabs on Wooyoung. Lunchtime is the only time where Yeosang could possibly see Wooyoung without seeking him out, and Yeosang isn't about to waste his time seeking out somebody he barely knows.

He barely knows Wooyoung, yet knows more about him than anybody else. Except for San, of course.

San. It's been so long since Yeosang has seen San. According to Hongjoong, San isn't doing well, but that's not a surprise to Yeosang. But he's alive, says Hongjoong, and Yeosang will take it. He has no choice, since there isn't much he can do.

_There isn't much he can do._

There isn't much he can do, but he _wants _to do something. Find San a place that isn't a prostitute's. Get Wooyoung proper help so he can stop starving himself. He _could _tell somebody. He _should _tell somebody.

Yet he doesn't. Another day goes by, with Wooyoung's skeleton-like form haunting his brain as he gets ahead on more of his homework that night, and as he tries his best to fall asleep, Hongjoong's words reverberate in his head.

_"They're going to destroy each other."_

The statement is daunting. If San is still seeing Wooyoung, and Wooyoung is still looking like this, getting _worse, _what good are they for each other?

Yeosang already knows the answer.

They aren't.

-

Yeosang is stuck. He doesn't see Wooyoung on Friday, and his worrying is eating away at him even though he's trying to distract himself with homework. He thinks about texting Jongho, but what good would that do? He's done enough talking. There's no way Jongho could help. Even though he knows Jongho wants to help, he can't. Yeosang has to do this on his own, but he doesn't even know _what _to do.

He needs to talk to San. If there's anyone who can get through to Wooyoung, it's him. And it just so happens that the only way to reach San is through Hongjoong.

As he dials Hongjoong's number, he wonders why Wooyoung just keeps getting worse. Shouldn't San be noticing this by now? Surely he must. Maybe everyone at school doesn't pay enough attention or even care about Wooyoung's drastic decline in appearance, but if San and Wooyoung claim to love each other as much as they do, _why isn't Wooyoung getting better?_

"Hello?"

The voice that answers isn't Hongjoong. In fact, Yeosang doesn't recognize it at all. It's octaves deeper than Hongjoong's. Is it a client? Did Hongjoong lose his phone?

"H-Hello, I'm looking for Hongjoong," Yeosang stutters, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat.

"Oh, Yeosang. Is that you?"

And it's as if the stars decided to answer Yeosang's calls. "Oh my god, San?"

The voice chuckles. It doesn't even sound like the San Yeosang remembers. His voice is much deeper, raspier, but Yeosang accredits that to the amount of smoking San has been doing. "Yeah, it's me. Sorry, Hongjoong's not around right now."

"Where is he?"

"He's with a client. Came home in a rush, dropped all of his shit off including his phone, and took off. Don't know exactly why, but whatever," San says nonchalantly. "He briefly saw me, but didn't even say hi. If you need to talk to him, I can leave him a message for you."

"O-Oh, no. It's actually... I wanted to talk to you, San."

"Oh? Is that why you called?"

"Yeah. There's something really important that I wanted to talk to you about."

"Ah." There's a bit of hesitation Yeosang can sense in San's voice. "Well, it's been quite a while since we've talked. I'm sure you've got a lot to say. How about we meet up somewhere? I can meet you on the bridge."

Yeosang's breath hitches. The bridge. The place where Yeosang has seen the most pain. He wonders why in the world San would want to meet there of all places when they could meet somewhere warm instead. Maybe Yeosang could buy him some food if they met up at the café or a restaurant or somewhere that isn't freezing cold.

_Why the bridge?_

Despite all of his questions, Yeosang agrees. He doesn't entirely know why he goes along with it.

As Yeosang makes his hike to the bridge, he notices that it isn't as cold. His breath doesn't appear and his hands rest comfortably in his pockets. It's a tolerable chill, and the walk is easy on his face. There is no wind, not even a slight breeze. It's not warm, but it's not cold. He can't remember the last time a day has been like this.

The sun has already disappeared when he reaches the bridge, and the street lights have turned on, casting an iridescent light upon the concrete. The sky has transformed into a dark blue-gray, the water only slightly visible without the aid of the lights. The moon isn't out, at least, not yet.

And in the center of the bridge stands Choi San, his elbows resting on the railing with his fingers laced together, gazing out at the evening sky.

At first, Yeosang doesn't recognize him. He doesn't have the jet black hair he's used to; instead, his hair has been colored a white-silver that is noticeable even under the yellow lamps. He's still wearing the brown leather jacket Yeosang had seen him last in, but he holds nothing else, not a backpack or any other apparent belongings. He doesn't notice Yeosang approaching until Yeosang is about a meter away.

"Ah, hi, Yeosang." San turns his head, and Yeosang's mouth drops open.

San had always been skinny. While the leather jacket was already big on him to begin with, Yeosang can see it in his face. It's as if the skin of his face has sunken inwards, his cheekbones and jawline more prominent than before, the bags under his eyes a deep purple, lips pale and chapped. He looks even worse than Wooyoung, but despite his ghastly appearance, that fact doesn't necessarily surprise him. After all, San is the one who'd turned to filling his lungs with toxins.

"S-San. Hi."

San chuckles dryly before coughing and clearing his throat. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Y-Yeah." Yeosang stands next to San awkwardly, copying his stance and resting his arms on the bridge's railing as well.

"How have you been, Yeosang? I don't see Hongjoong often, so I don't hear much about you."

_Doesn't Wooyoung tell you about me? _"I've been okay."

"Mm," San hums in acknowledgement. "Why do I seriously doubt that?"

Yeosang shrugs. "You know, Yeosang," San says, "I've always been quite perceptive. And I'm not sure if you've noticed yourself, but you look a lot worse than you did the last time I saw you."

"I could say the same for you." The words slip out of Yeosang before he can take them back, but San just laughs. Typical San.

"Well, duh. I'm homeless. It only stands to reason that I look ten times worse than I did before. You, on the other hand. What's been going on? You look like you haven't been sleeping well," San says, eyeing Yeosang up and down.

"Because I haven't," Yeosang says honestly.

"Mind if I ask why?"

And for some goddamn reason, Yeosang finds it too easy to spill his secrets. He tells San about everyone, from the Park Seonghwa being an anxious, suicidal mess, to Yunho's father beating him and his brother, to Mingi's suicide attempt, and all the while, San continues to stare out at the open water, occasionally nodding as Yeosang lists the reasons why he's having a hard time sleeping at night. He does, however, leave Hongjoong and Wooyoung out, because he has a feeling San knows enough about them already.

"Hm. The school's most prestigious rich kid and the school's most notorious superstar athlete having such troubling pasts? Never would have guessed," San says at the end.

"Seonghwa's still living it," Yeosang corrects him. "Yunho's... in the process of getting help."

"I see," San mumbles. "Mingi... I think he was in one or two of my classes. He's tall, kinda dorky-looking, right?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I know him. You really stopped him from killing himself?"

"Kinda, yeah. Yunho was the one who told me about him. Turns out he lived really close to me, and Yunho called me saying he was worried that Mingi was trying to kill himself because Mingi was texting him all this bad stuff and... yeah. I don't know if I necessarily saved him, but I was told there could've been more damage to his body if I hadn't arrived and gotten him help sooner."

"And he probably would've succeeded if nothing was done at all."

Yeosang thinks that's a given, but he nods anyway. He swears he can see a tiny smile forming on San's face. "You've always been quite brave, Yeosang."

Yeosang can't help the scoff that escapes him. "I'm not, you know that."

San shrugs. "You do what you do, and you don't give a shit about what other people say or think about you. It's like, anybody could insult you and you'd just shrug it off. Not everyone has the mindset you do, Yeosang. Oh, by the way, love the hair."

Yeosang can't help but share a laugh with him. "I like yours too. Did Hongjoong do yours?"

San nods. "I'm guessing he did yours too."

"Mhm."

"Classic Hongjoong. He said I'd look good with silver hair."

"And he said I'd look good with pink hair."

San smirks and rolls his eyes. "How did people react?"

"I don't know, got a couple weird looks from some people and I'm pretty sure the teachers kinda look down on me now, but it's whatever. No one's said anything about it, at least, not to my face," Yeosang tells him.

"Do you worry about what people say about you behind your back?"

Yeosang shakes his head. "Not really."

"There, I rest my case," San says. "I meant what I said the last time I saw you, Yeosang. You're good. Too good. The world... needs more people like you."

Yeosang bites his lip as he frowns deeply, head dropping and eyes landing on the water below. He thinks to himself, if there were more people like him in the world, everyone would be sad. He doesn't want that. Sure, he may not care about what other people say or think about _him, _but Jongho's words replay in his head and remind him that _he's _the one who feels too much, and it's all from _them, _not himself.

Yeosang doesn't know what is worse, feeling his own pain or living the pain of others. When he thinks about it, maybe it all just blends together.

Their pain has become his.

"Yeosang, you said you wanted to talk to me about something important. What was it?" San asks.

The question snaps Yeosang back to the scene. This is it. Finally, Wooyoung's truth can be brought to life. Maybe, after all this time, Wooyoung can finally get the help he needs. Maybe, even if San can't help himself, he can help Wooyoung.

"It's about Wooyoung," Yeosang says. He turns to look at San, whose eyes are still set out on the darkened horizon, mouth completely straight. His head raises slightly at the mention of Wooyoung's name.

"What about him?" San asks, his tone turning solemn.

"He... I think he needs help."

Yeosang can see the way San sucks in his bottom lip, his frown deepening and eyes narrowing. "What makes you think that?"

"San... this isn't going to be easy to hear, but... I think he's starving himself and making himself throw up. I-I don't know if it's an eating disorder or what, but he's been coming to school looking awful and he's lost so much weight and... I don't know. I'm worried about him."

Silence. Absolutely nothing. There is no response from San whatsoever. He continues to stare straight out at the sky, the water, his bottom lip now released from his teeth and his expression returning to a neutral state once again. Yeosang looks at him expectantly, trying to gauge any sort of reaction, but there is none. "San?" he says after several moments of silence. "San, please tell me you've noticed it too. Wooyoung needs help, and... I think you're the only one who can get through to him."

There's a slight change in San's expression, and it's one that Yeosang would have never imagined. The corners of San's mouth twitch upwards into a smile, a fucking _smile, _and San sighs, his shoulders straightening out as he almost seems to stand taller. "Oh, Yeosang, I was wondering when you were going to bring that up," he says casually.

Yeosang gawks at him as his smile only continues to grow. "Wh-What do you mean?" he asks, mortified.

San's head tilts upwards, his eyes closing as if he's in complete bliss rather than a state of panic. Shouldn't he be panicking? Shouldn't he be distressed over finding out that his lover needs help? _Serious _help? "Thought you would've realized that a long time ago," San says.

"Realized what?" Yeosang asks, his tone growing impatient.

"That Wooyoung has an eating disorder."

San finally turns to look at him, his smile lesser but expression so calm despite the news, but apparently, it _isn't _news. "Wait, you... you _knew_?" Yeosang nearly shrieks.

San nods. "Of course. I know everything about him."

Yeosang's eyes widen in shock, his heart beginning to race out of something that finally isn't panic. No, it's something that Yeosang has never felt with such magnitude. It's overwhelming his system, making his vision blurry and causing his fingers to tremble. His face heats up as he exclaims, "What... what the _fuck, _San?"

"What?" San asks a little too innocently.

"You _know _Wooyoung has an eating disorder?"

"Yeah."

"And you're not doing anything about it?"

San shrugs, one corner of his mouth turned upwards. "There isn't much I can do. He's been at it for a while, and it's not like I can help him. I could tell him over and over again how much I love him but he will never love himself."

Yeosang gapes at him in disbelief. "San, he's basically _killing _himself! You realize that, right?"

"In case you haven't noticed, so am I," San retorts, eyes narrowing again as he turns to glare back at Yeosang. "We're effectively killing ourselves just by continuing to exist, Yeosang. Besides, it's not like it matters."

"It doesn't matter? It doesn't _matter_?" Yeosang shrieks, his own voice flooding his ears in a way that he's never experienced before. It hurts in a much different way than his cuts did, than crying does, as he screams at San, "You're telling me that you _know _Wooyoung has an eating disorder and it _doesn't matter_?"

"No, Yeosang, it doesn't," San argues back, his tone firm. "It doesn't matter, because we're both fucked up in the head, there's no hope for us, and if we love each other then we might as well suffer together!"

"What do you _mean _there's no hope for you? There was hope for Mingi and Yunho, wasn't there? Mingi tried to _kill himself, _San, and he's alive! They're getting help. Why can't you and Wooyoung just _get help_?"

San scoffs, his mouth widening in another deranged smile as his head tilts back again, looking amused more than anything. "There's no hope for us, Yeosang. Getting help is pointless. We all die someday, don't we? What's the point in getting help if you don't want it in the first place?"

_"Yeosang, you should know by now that you can't help people who don't want to be helped."_

_"Well... can we try to get him to want help?"_

_"If only it worked like that, sweetie."_

"Why..." Yeosang croaks. "Why don't you want help?"

San sighs and shakes his head. "You'll never understand, Yeosang."

"You're right. I don't understand, and I probably never will," Yeosang says. "Because I have been suffering for so long, trying to understand. I cut myself to try to understand why Mingi did it. I cried so many times because everyone around me was hurting and I _couldn't _understand what they were going through, and it was killing me. I wanted to understand so badly. I wanted to help, but everyone just kept suffering and I couldn't _do _anything. The least I could do was _try _to understand, but clearly, I don't. All of this pain that I'm feeling, it's pointless, right? I mean, it's not even my own. It's everyone else's. I made it my own."

Yeosang is breathless. His chest hurts from his heart pounding against it. He can't tell if there are tears or not. He finds himself smiling, his head falling back much like San's had, and he lets out a pathetic laugh. "It was pointless, all of this shit I've been feeling. Wasn't it? Because in the end, I don't understand. I don't understand why the fuck you and Wooyoung don't want help when hurting fucking _sucks. _I don't understand why you and Wooyoung would rather continue to hurt than get help. _I don't understand._"

San just stares at him, his expression completely unreadable. "That's _so _fucked up, San. That you _know _Wooyoung is doing that to himself and you're acting like it doesn't matter. Like you don't care," Yeosang continues.

"I never said I didn't care," San says.

"Oh, don't give me that bullshit!" Yeosang exclaims. "You literally said 'it doesn't matter' a few moments ago. I can't believe you knew all along and you never did anything to help him!"

"Nothing's going to change, Yeosang," San says. "I can't do anything to help him, and he can't do anything to help me. So what's the point in worrying? Like I said, we all fucking die in the end. When I found out, he begged me not to tell anyone, so I didn't. I love him, Yeosang. As much as I don't want him to starve himself, I will respect his wishes—"

"What the _fuck, _San?" Yeosang shouts, his voice echoing into the night. "'Respecting his wishes' my ass! Isn't his health, his _life,_ more important than his wishes? How the fuck can you call that love when you'd rather just sit back and watch him slowly kill himself than get him actual help because you want to 'respect his wishes?'"

"You'll never understand," San says again, though it holds much more malice.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll never understand, but I know one thing for sure. That's not love, that's fucking insane."

And San just starts laughing. He snorts at first, his laughing growing in volume as his head falls back completely, his whole upper body shaking with how hard he's laughing. His eyes are shut tight, but they hold no substance of actual laughter. This isn't laughter. This isn't happiness.

This is insanity_._

"San!" Yeosang shouts, grabbing both of San's shoulders and jostling his body. "San, _stop_!"

The sight is disturbing. Suddenly Yeosang remembers when San had crushed the cigarette in his palm, when he'd laughed at the pain. Yeosang had thought _that _was insane, how someone could laugh at the feeling of pain, but this... this is something Yeosang never thought he would see. It's something straight out of a movie.

The only difference Yeosang can distinguish is that there are no tears this time.

When San opens his eyes, they are clear. They hold absolutely nothing. His mouth twitches as his laughter dies down, remaining in a crazed yet hollow smile. Sometimes, people laugh despite the pain. Yeosang can't tell if San is laughing despite the pain or if he's laughing _because _of the pain.

What kind of masochist has San become? Has his situation truly driven him to this point?

There are no tears. He laughs with ten times more conviction than the last time, and his eyes hold ten times more despair. Yeosang has seen these eyes before. He has seen this smile before. Those eyes that hold beautiful despair, divine hopelessness, and the smile that lacks substance and true happiness, one consisting of nothing but suffering and the overwhelming need to hide it. Yeosang has seen it all before, but this time, for some reason, it hurts to see even more.

San has truly lost himself.

"There's no point," San says, the smile never disappearing from his face. "There's no point in getting so worked up, Yeosang. I'm not going to change, and neither is Wooyoung. Nothing is going to get better for us. So what's the point in feeling our pain? Sometimes, you just need to learn to _let go_."

Yeosang gradually releases San's shoulders, shaking his head slowly in utter disbelief as he backs away from San's unmoving body. San's smile has died down to a smirk, but he remains still in his place. "You're unbelievable, San," Yeosang says.

"I just speak the truth," San says cryptically, but Yeosang is already turning around on his heels.

He doesn't look back as he starts sprinting back in the direction of his house.

It can't be the truth. It's delusional. This is not San's truth, or Wooyoung's truth. There has to be more. There has to be hope. It can't be like this.

Yeosang did _not_ shed tears over people who never gave two shits in the first place. Wooyoung's truth has always been known, and the one who claims to love him most did nothing but encourage him to destroy himself.

_"I swear to god, those two are going to kill each other."_

Hongjoong was right. He'd been right from the beginning.

They are truly no good for each other. Perhaps Yeosang has always known this, but he never imagined it was this bad. To allow Wooyoung to destroy himself... isn't that inadvertently killing him? If San loves Wooyoung, _why does he allow Wooyoung to destroy himself?_

But like San had said, he is destroying himself too. Two self-destructive lovers who are in turn destroying each other. Yeosang doesn't understand. He never will. He doesn't understand how this could be love. It isn't. He knows that for sure.

What he wonders is what happened that finally broke San, what tricked him into believing that this kind of "love" is okay, or if San has truly been this broken all along.

He runs. He runs back to his house, where it's safe and warm there. He slams the front door behind him, panting and sweating as he quickly unzips his coat and strips it away. He locks the door behind him and storms up the stairs to the bathroom where he throws his coat somewhere on the ground and stands in front of the bathroom mirror, his hands buried in his hair as he heaves, gasping for breath.

San cannot help Wooyoung.

As Yeosang breathes, wheezes, in and out, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, he thinks to himself, _this can't be it. _Wooyoung _has _to get help, and if San isn't going to do it, then _he _will, whether they like it or not.

Yeosang will not watch Wooyoung destroy himself, nor will he allow San to do it for him.

-

Jongho walks to school with Yeosang Monday morning. It gives Yeosang a bit of encouragement as he spends the entire morning working up the nerve to visit the social worker during his lunch period. Though Yeosang doesn't tell Jongho exactly what's going on, having Jongho by his side again is enough to quell some of his anxiety.

When Yeosang explains the situation to the social worker, she listens and nods intently. However, he does not mention San. He's sure she wouldn't know who he is anyway. At one point, she leans back and starts typing into her computer as Yeosang continues to talk, though she still nods as if she is listening.

"I'm sure Wooyoung would appreciate your concern. He's stopped in a couple times before, actually. I haven't seen him in a while, though, and he hasn't scheduled any appointments," she says with a few clicks of her mouse.

"What exactly does he come here for?"

"I can't tell you that. Confidentiality rules and all," she says, though Yeosang imagines it's for the same reasons he explained to her. "It says he's absent today." Her brows furrow as she scrolls down. "He's been absent a lot lately, actually."

"Y-Yeah. I rarely see him anymore. I think the last time I saw him was this past Thursday."

"That's what it says here," the counselor says. "With this many absences, surely his parents would have been notified."

The statement makes Yeosang's skin crawl. It makes him think, he really doesn't know anything about Wooyoung or his life at home. He has both his parents; Yeosang knows that much. But he doesn't know if they are like Yunho's or Mingi's or San's. There's no telling what could go on behind the scenes.

"I-Is there any way you or someone could get into contact with him or his parents? I'm really worried about him, and I don't have his number."

The counselor nods. "Of course, Yeosang. I'll be sure to contact Wooyoung's parents as soon as I can."

"Thank you," Yeosang says graciously.

He leaves the office knowing he did what he could. There is minimal relief, but _he did what he could. _Now, all he can do is wait. He hopes that the counselor will reach out to him once she finally gets into contact with Wooyoung's parents. Maybe then he can finally get the help he needs.

He's done it. He's finally said something.

He just wishes he could get rid of the uneasy feeling rising in his gut as he makes his way to biology.

-

Mingi calls him that afternoon, his voice loud and jubilant as he delivers good news to Yeosang.

"I'm going to be discharged soon!" he announces.

"Oh, that's awesome, Mingi!" Yeosang says in congratulations. "Do you know exactly when?"

"Within the next week. They've already arranged me to stay at a group home near the school so I can keep attending and stuff. The school has also been notified about the bullying and hopefully, something will be done about it."

"I'm happy for you, Mingi," Yeosang says. "How are you feeling?"

"Honestly... I've been a lot better," Mingi tells him. "I think being here really helped me. I... kind of miss my mother, actually. I really hope she can get herself all sorted out so we can eventually live together again. I think things are really looking up, though."

Yeosang smiles to himself. "I'm so proud of you, Mingi."

"Thank you, Yeosang. I wouldn't be here without you."

Yeosang thinks about how true that statement is. Mingi's voice holds so much gratefulness, and Yeosang can feel it.

"Do you... do you know how Yunho is doing? I haven't heard from him in a little while," Yeosang says.

"Oh, yeah! He and I talked a bit yesterday. He told me that he's being homeschooled at his relative's house for now while they get everything sorted out with his father, but as soon as all of that's done, he might return to school. It could be a while until then, though," Mingi explains. "He and Gunho are doing well though. I'm sure he'll reach out to you when he can. He doesn't have a lot of time, though. It was hard to get a hold of him and we couldn't talk for long."

"That's okay," Yeosang says. "As long as he's doing well."

"Yeah. What about you, Yeosang? Is everything okay with you over there?"

_Don't hold it in. Say it._

"Not... really."

"Oh." Mingi can't hide the disappointment in his voice. "What's going on?"

"It's Wooyoung," Yeosang says.

"Oh, really? How is he? What happened with him?"

Yeosang tells him about his and San's encounter on the bridge. He's not sure if Mingi's ever been there, but he tells him about it anyway. How San has completely lost his sense of self, how his hopelessness consumed him and has been eating away at Wooyoung. He tells Mingi that he visited the social worker in attempts to get Wooyoung help because that's all he could do.

"Oh my," Mingi says. "I hope he gets help soon."

"Me too," is all Yeosang can say.

"Yeosang... just know that I'm here for you. Well, not at the moment, but you know what I mean. Whatever happens, you did what you could. Don't blame yourself if things don't... if things don't turn out the way you want them to."

Yeosang shudders just thinking about it. Instead of arguing back, he simply sighs and says, "Okay."

"I hope San can get help too. I don't know what's up with him, but—"

"He's homeless, Mingi," Yeosang says, realizing that Mingi never found out.

"Oh."

"His father kicked him out of the house for no apparent reason a little over a month ago. That's why he disappeared from school."

"Oh my god," Mingi breathes.

"He... I don't want to say he's hopeless. Maybe, if Wooyoung gets help, it'll encourage him to get help too."

"That's insane, though," Mingi says a bit louder. "His parents kicked him out? Just like that?"

"Yeah."

"And he didn't go anywhere? He didn't go to the police or anything?"

Yeosang frowns, knowing very well that San _could _have done that. He's always wondered why, even up to this point. "No. I don't know why."

"Sheesh," Mingi says. "He needs to. That's straight up abuse, Yeosang. His parents can't do that and get away with it!"

Yeosang winces at the reality. He wonders why San never said anything to the school in the few days he was there before he left, and he wonders why nobody at the school seemed to question his disappearance. Did the faculty even know? What did San's parents end up telling the school? How was San able to avoid everyone?

Was he just _invisible_?

San never said anything, but neither did Yeosang. Maybe, if _he _had said something, maybe—

"I'm sorry, Yeosang," Mingi says before his brain can interrupt. "Whatever happens... I hope the both of them get the help they need. And please, no matter what, do _not _blame yourself for their pain. I... I have a feeling you do. You blamed yourself for mine, didn't you?"

Yeosang lets out a deep breath and closes his eyes. "Y-Yeah."

"I don't want you to ever do that again. You're a good person, Yeosang. Other people's pain could never be your fault. You have good intentions, and I know you only want to help. But I'm sure you know... you can't help those who don't want to be helped."

"Mingi, can I be honest with you?" Yeosang asks.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"When I saved you... I felt guilty. Like, I knew you just wanted the pain to stop, and I stopped that from happening. I made you live even though you wanted to die. Didn't... didn't you hate me for that?"

There's a brief moment of silence before Mingi replies in a much more hushed voice. "Yeosang... when I cut myself and took those pills, it felt like everything around me was falling apart. I felt like I was ready to die. But... when I started going in and out of consciousness, I was fucking terrified. It hurt so much, being like that. Like, I wasn't alive but I wasn't dead, either. When I finally started to lose consciousness... it sounds cliché, but it was like my life flashed before my eyes." He pauses again and draws in a deep breath. "I don't really remember you saving me, Yeosang. But when the doctors at the hospital told me you did, it made me realize that I was about to give up on you. You and Yunho. You two mean everything to me, and I was about to throw that away because... well, I don't know why. I just thought I was ready to die, but in reality, I wasn't. I didn't want to die. I just wanted the pain to stop."

Yeosang doesn't notice the tears in his eyes until they fall onto his desk.

So this _is _how Mingi felt.

He thinks back to Seonghwa. Maybe Seonghwa can sympathize with Mingi.

_"I can't think of any other way to make it stop."_

Yeosang had seen Seonghwa earlier in the day. Seonghwa is still alive, and he's still in pain. Seonghwa had asked him, _what will it take for people to notice?, _but now, Yeosang wants to ask him _what will it take for you to realize that you don't want to die after all? _Does he have to have a moment right before impending death to realize he doesn't want it after all?

Jumping off of a bridge... is there even a moment like that?

In the slightest of ways, Yeosang can understand them.

He wants the pain to stop, too.

"I didn't hate you for that, Yeosang. You saved my life; how could I hate you? When they told me, I couldn't stop crying. And Yunho, too... I realized, I have to live to see things get better. I used to think that I didn't want help because it was easier to think that, but now... even though I'm sure I'll have my bad days, I _do _want help. I want things to get better, and I want to be alive to see them when they do."

Even though Mingi can't see him, he nods. "Th-Thank you, Mingi."

"No, Yeosang," Mingi says, "thank _you._"

When the phone call finally ends, Yeosang breaks, his sobs echoing in his empty house, as endless tears fall from his eyes. Every single time, when he feels like he's cried so much that he can't cry anymore, the tears always appear, and he cries again.

He wonders if he'll ever reach the point Hongjoong is at. Where his emotions are so exhausted that he cannot cry anymore.

He also wonders which is worse, feeling too much, or feeling nothing at all.

-

The next call Yeosang receives is from his mother. It happens the next night, while Yeosang is reading two chapters ahead in his history textbook.

"Yeosang-ah! How are you?"

"I'm okay," Yeosang answers.

Though he hasn't heard back from the social worker and Seonghwa's appearance remains ever so gruesome, he's feeling okay. He's honest. "That's good to hear. How are your studies going?"

"Good."

"Good, good. Your father and I enjoying some time off while we're here. The next meeting we have is next Friday. We'll be back the week after."

"But... you said last time that the most you'll be gone is two weeks. That was... almost two weeks ago," Yeosang points out. He doesn't know why he's so dismayed. Does he really miss his parents? "You... you'll have been gone for a month, but you said you'd be gone for two weeks."

His mother sighs. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Things kept popping up. When your father's boss told him about the trip, they estimated the length to be about two weeks. Turns out... it's a lot more than that. I promise, sweetie, just another week or two and we'll be home."

"O... kay," Yeosang says.

He and his mother make small talk again. He doesn't know why, but his mood starts to decline the more he talks to his mother. For some reason, he misses his family. He didn't think he would miss them this much. After all, they aren't the most affectionate family. A lot of the time, Yeosang doesn't see them outside of school apart from eating dinner together. Why does he miss them so much?

When he hangs up, he's crying again. He cries and cries, both loudly and quietly, and that's when he realizes why.

He can cry all he wants, but nobody can hear him. The house is terribly lonely without his family there, and his sadness only rings off of the desolate walls with nobody but himself to comfort him.

-

Yeosang is called into the social worker's office and receives some very harrowing news that he could not have prepared himself for.

"Yeosang, I don't know how to put this, because a lot of things are uncertain, but we managed to get into contact with Wooyoung's parents, and... he's missing."

His eyes widen at the news. "What do you mean he's missing?"

"We called his parents two days ago, after you left my office," the social worker explains. "They got back to us yesterday, saying that they haven't seen their son since Friday night."

Friday night. The night Yeosang saw San on the bridge. A nauseous feeling gurgles in Yeosang's stomach.

"They said they filed a missing persons report with the local police station on Sunday, but there haven't been any updates," she continues. "When we got in contact with the police station, they said that the investigation is ongoing and will continue for the next three weeks. If they can't find him by then... the case will be shut down unless he turns up somewhere."

Dizziness washes over Yeosang's head. He should tell her. He should tell her about San, the bridge. Everything. He should tell her that San is hopeless. That San was encouraging Wooyoung to destroy himself. That the two are no good for each other. _He should tell her about San._

_Why isn't he saying anything?_

_There's too much at risk. San. What if they find out about Hongjoong through San? What if Hongjoong's police client can't save him and he's thrown in prison for the rest of his life? What if Seonghwa goes insane afterwards and jumps off of the bridge? What if she says she can't do anything about San because he doesn't go to the school anymore? Does she even know who San is?_

_SAY SOMETHING. TELL HER ABOUT SAN._

His brain is screaming at him. Clawing at his skull. Begging to speak. Pleading to confess. He needs to tell her. But what can she do? Could she even do anything? Surely it would help if Wooyoung's parents knew about San. Maybe it could help them find him, wherever he is.

Wherever he is, Yeosang prays to God that it's not with San.

"I'm sorry, Yeosang. I'll try to keep you updated," is all she can offer.

When Yeosang leaves the office, he holds one last unsaid truth in his heart. It feels like a boulder in his chest, weighing him down, stabbing his bones and shattering them all at once. Walking home is hard. It's hard enough that Jongho catches up to him.

"Hyung!" Jongho calls out, panting. Yeosang whirls around, eyes wild with panic. Seeing this, Jongho's facial expression plummets, his eyes filling with concern. "Hyung, what happened? What's wrong?"

"Wooyoung. He's missing. He's been missing since Friday," Yeosang says, the words feeling like a million needles plunging into his throat.

Jongho's lips part, his shoulders rising with a tense breath. "Wooyoung? He's San's boyfriend, right? The one you said is making himself throw up?"

Yeosang nods, tears making his eyeballs sting more so than the cold. "Oh my god," Jongho exhales. "Hyung, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I... I don't know what to do, Jongho," Yeosang hiccups, already feeling his knees weakening as the two continue to take slow steps towards their homes. "I saw San Friday night. The night when Wooyoung was last seen."

"Hyung..."

"San and I got into an argument, and I left him standing on the bridge," Yeosang goes on, his organs twisting with every word. "Jongho... what if—"

"Hyung, stop," Jongho says. "You're thinking too much. They're going to find Wooyoung. You seeing San on the bridge that night isn't related to him disappearing. It's not your fault."

"But Jongho—"

"No, hyung," Jongho interrupts him, grabbing his arm and picking up his strides. Yeosang stumbles along helplessly, Jongho's strength practically dragging him along until they reach the front door to Yeosang's house. There are already tears coating Yeosang's face. He hadn't realized it. "Listen to me. It's not your fault. They're going to find Wooyoung, and everything is going to be okay."

Coming from Jongho, it almost feels surreal. But the thing is, Jongho is no longer oblivious. No, this is him stretching the possibilities, clinging onto the last bit of hope that _everything is going to be okay_. Jongho is speaking from desperation, not naivety, and Yeosang can see this from the way Jongho's voice trembles just like his had done numerous times before.

Jongho is just as terrified.

_It's not your fault._

He should have said something to the social worker. Technically, he still can. He can still tell her. He can turn this around. Things can get better. They will find Wooyoung.

For his own sake, he hopes.

-

"Sangie, dear! How is the pink hair treating you?"

"Now's not the time, Hongjoong," Yeosang says as he paces around his room.

"You sound worried, dear. Mind telling me why?"

"Have you seen San?" Yeosang asks firmly, not succumbing to Hongjoong's flirtatious antics.

There's a short, completely silent pause. "No, I haven't," Hongjoong says. "You know I don't come across him often."

"That's bullshit. San was at your place on Friday and you saw him in passing. He picked up your _phone, _Hongjoong."

Hongjoong grunts. "Yes, and I haven't seen him since then. When I got back home, he was gone, just like he normally is." His tone is much more irritated than Yeosang is used to. It makes Yeosang's intestines curdle. "I don't know what you two talked about, but—"

"Hongjoong, Wooyoung is missing."

There's an even longer pause, but Yeosang can hear Hongjoong's breathing, a gasp escaping him. "Wooyoung is _what_?"

"Missing. He's been missing since Friday night. You know, the day you and I both saw San last. This can't be a coincidence, Hongjoong. I need to know if you saw San after I saw him."

Yeosang realizes then that Hongjoong doesn't know he met with San on the bridge. At least... he _shouldn't _know, unless San told him.

Hongjoong lets out a shaky sigh and says, "Yeosang, I think we should talk. In person. Come over as soon as you can."

The line goes dead with no further explanation.

Yeosang scoffs, shoving his phone into his pocket as he throws his coat around him. Typical Hongjoong, leaving when things get to be too much. He never cared for Wooyoung; why did he react in such a way? Does he know something?

The possibilities bounce around in Yeosang's head as he makes enormous strides towards Hongjoong's luxurious apartment. He ignores the shockwaves up his legs and the angry tears springing in his eyes, focusing on nothing but getting to Hongjoong's place and the cold biting away at his skin.

-

When Hongjoong lets him in, the apartment smells of artificial citrus.

Yeosang doesn't waste a second. He doesn't even know if he says hi before he's immediately turning around to face the prostitute, dressed in nothing but a black hoodie and sweatpants. His face is bare, a beanie covering his blue hair. The bags under his eyes are prominent now, just like his own. "Not even a hello?" he quips with a quirked eyebrow.

"Not now, Hongjoong," Yeosang says, fury boiling in his veins. "Why did you call me all the way out here? When did you last see San?"

Hongjoong's jaw clenches and moves to the side. His tongue pokes into the side of his cheek as he bites down on it, his eyes flitting around the room anxiously. He bites his bottom lip, closing his eyes as he exhales. "I saw San Friday night. It was after you two met on the bridge."

"How did you know we met on the bridge?" Yeosang asks.

"Because he told me."

The uneasy feeling rises again. Yeosang's blood is screaming in his veins. The look on Hongjoong's face is unsettling, like he _knows _something. He can't even _look _at Yeosang. "What... what did he tell you?"

"He told me what you two talked about. That you blew up on him and left him on the bridge," Hongjoong answers, voice completely devoid of emotion.

"Did he tell you _why _I blew up on him?"

"Surprisingly, yes," Hongjoong says. "And I blew up on him, too."

Confused and surprised, Yeosang frowns, his brows knitting together as he crosses his arms. "And?"

Hongjoong finally looks at him. "I reacted the same way you did, Yeosang. Yelled at him, scolded him for letting Wooyoung do that to himself, and..." He sighs, eyes squeezing shut. "I kicked him out. Took his key and everything."

Yeosang unconsciously takes a step back. "You... you kicked him out?" he repeats in disbelief.

Hongjoong's jaw tightens again. "Yeah. I did. I told him that if he thought everything was pointless, then so is staying at my place and taking advantage of my hospitality. The bastard didn't even look too upset about it."

"You... you said you wouldn't kick him out. I remember you saying that." Yes, Yeosang remembers him saying that, but he can't remember _when._

"That was a while ago. Things change," Hongjoong grits through his clenched teeth.

"Hongjoong," Yeosang says, all sorts of emotions making their way into his gut. It feels like his entire body is about to burst or collapse; Yeosang doesn't know. It's so much, _too _much. He doesn't know what he's feeling. He can't place anything. He asks the next question already knowing the answer. "Do you know where San went?"

"No, Yeosang. I don't know where San went."

He looks Yeosang dead in the eye as he says it. Yeosang has never known a look so dangerous. "Is that all?" Hongjoong asks next.

"Is that... is that _all_? Is that all, Hongjoong?" Yeosang's arms drop, his blood now fuming. "San and Wooyoung are both _gone, missing, _and you're acting like you don't give a shit?"

"I don't," Hongjoong says.

"Like _hell _you don't!" Yeosang screeches. The tears present themselves again. "I'm so fucking tired of you acting like you don't give a shit, Hongjoong! If you don't give a shit, _why_? Why don't you give a shit? Because worrying is pointless? I'll tell you what, Hongjoong, as pointless as worrying might be, so is standing around and doing absolutely fucking nothing, _especially _when you were the one who saw San last."

"I can't do anything, Yeosang. San is gone. What do you expect me to do, find him? I don't know where the hell he went!" Hongjoong argues back.

"You could at least show some compassion!"

"I don't do compassion—"

"God, _fuck you_, Hongjoong!" Yeosang screams, his lungs contracting, his throat already sore. Hongjoong almost seems to reel backwards at his voice, now loud and angry as opposed to what he's used to. "Whatever happened that made you so fucking numb, I'm _sorry. _I'm so fucking sorry all that shit happened to you, but believe it or not, some people _need _you. San needed you. _I _needed you. And you left. You left us, abandoned us, because you were overwhelmed and couldn't take it. That's what you _do, _Hongjoong. You _leave _when you get overwhelmed because you can't stand and face your emotions. So don't give me that 'I don't do compassion' bullshit. You care, you feel emotions, so stop pretending like you don't!"

Hongjoong's Adam's apple bobs up and down in his throat, his eyes landing on the polished wood flooring. "You know what, Hongjoong?" Yeosang says with an exasperated sigh. "I'm so tired. I don't even know why I still talk to you. I don't know if I was somehow coerced into staying your friend because you were the first person to give me a blowjob, or if I stayed because you were the only way I could stay in contact with San, which was all fucking useless in the end since I never ended up seeing San. That is, until last Friday night." He shakes his head.

"Yeosang, tell me something," Hongjoong says, looking up at him.

"What?"

"Do you regret having sex with me?"

"What... what kind of question is that?"

"Just answer it," Hongjoong says impatiently.

Yeosang is tired. He will answer it if it means he doesn't have to listen to Hongjoong anymore. "I don't know."

"Did you _want _to have sex with me?" Hongjoong asks.

"Not particularly, no," Yeosang says, too lost in his own monsoon of emotions to be anything but honest. He's _tired. _"I was exhausted. I was upset. Sex was the last thing on my mind, but I didn't have it in me to tell you no. So I just let it happen. It felt good, sure, but it's whatever."

"It's not whatever," Hongjoong says. "You should have told me no. Every time we did something, I told you to tell me to stop if you didn't want to do it."

"And I didn't have it in me to tell you to stop, Hongjoong," Yeosang finally admits, his shoulders slumping sadly. "This whole time, you knew I was hurting. You knew I was cutting myself, you knew I'd just saved my friend from killing himself. You've seen me cry so many times, and yet... you still just wanted to have sex with me. Is that all you wanted from me, Hongjoong? Did you keep me around just because I was a break from all the disgusting old men you fuck?"

Yeosang doesn't know when the conversation took this turn, but part of him is glad it did. Hongjoong needed to hear this, and until now, Yeosang didn't know how long he's been itching to say it. Finally, his truth surfaces.

His own truth, or at least part of it.

"No, Yeosang," Hongjoong says. Yeosang can't detect any dishonesty, but then again, he can't detect much of anything else. "I did not keep you around just for sex."

Yeosang scoffs, shaking his head as he pushes past Hongjoong. "It doesn't matter anymore, Hongjoong," he says, turning around at the front door to face him. "I'm done. I don't want to see you anymore. Don't call me. Don't seek me out. If you show up at my door, I'm calling the police."

And with that, he storms out.

Useless. That's what it all is. Talking to Hongjoong, trying to convince himself of things that are the complete opposite of whatever goes through that thick skull of his, all of it is useless. Hongjoong's head is completely blocked off, hazed and blinded by drugs, sex, and numbness. For some, maybe numbness is achievable.

For Yeosang, he has a feeling that it isn't.

The tears won't stop falling. He should be okay. He should feel relieved that he is finally done with Hongjoong. That there's no need for him to go back to him because San isn't _there _anymore. All along, being with Hongjoong was useless. Pointless. He shouldn't have spent all that time with Hongjoong.

The tears soak into his pillowcases. When he thinks about it, aren't his tears pointless too? Why does he even bother shedding them over people who don't give a shit? He wishes he could just tell his body to stop. Tell his emotions to calm down. Tell his insides to stop clashing. He wants it to stop.

It's not stopping.

He wants it to stop. Shouldn't it be stopping?

He's _tired._ The blade is too far away. He doesn't want to move.

He was finally honest, with both himself and Hongjoong. Why he never was before, he doesn't entirely know. It should feel like a load off of his chest, but the tears aren't stopping and his body aches now more than ever. He's finally stopped running from himself, his _own _truth, but he feels it now. It's heavy, but it's there. It's finally in the open. Hongjoong knows now. What he does with Yeosang's truth, Yeosang doesn't care.

After all, _Hongjoong doesn't care_, so why should he?

The tears drown him to sleep, but he's still able to breathe. It seems he spends a lot of nights like that, anyway.

-

The sun rises and sets like usual. The world turns on its axis. It revolves around the sun. The weather changes accordingly. The future remains a mystery.

Perhaps Yeosang should have expected it.

He certainly feels like it when the truth comes out and the headlines appear and the rumors sprout and start spreading around the school. He actually hears it over the school announcement. He can't remember exactly what was said, but he knows exactly what was said.

They are released early that day. To think, upon arriving to the school, they are immediately sent home with the news that a student has been found dead. There are no other details. No name. But Yeosang knows better than that. He knows more than anyone else.

He spends the rest of that day doing homework, ignoring the headline that appears once he opens his web browser. He skims over it. Does what he needs to do and then some.

The headline haunts his dreams.

Mingi calls him the next afternoon after school. Yeosang had heard a lot more that day. While he never read the article, there were many more whispers among his peers. The mood had been somber, his classes quiet. There had been a peculiar instance where he caught Seonghwa looking at him, and the two didn't look away from each other for several seconds. It's as if Seonghwa knew what he knew, but alas, none of them said a word of it to each other. When Mingi asks what happened, Yeosang tells him.

"Oh... oh, Yeosang. I'm... I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

_It's not._

Yeosang reads the article that night.

_The bodies of eighteen-year-old Jung Wooyoung and eighteen-year-old Choi San were found at the base of an unnamed river... hand-in-hand... apparent suicide... no note... pact... families have been notified..._

For some strange reason, there are no tears. There is absolutely nothing. As the words seep in, as the reality becomes clear, Yeosang sits back in his chair and breathes. In and out. The screen glows brightly in his face. The words, which are just pixels on the screen that hold the truth, stare back at him. He breathes again. In. Out.

The article never mentioned their pain. After all, they hadn't left a note. They must have been sure nobody would find them, or that nobody would care. Perhaps that still remains true to some extent. Yeosang is sure that their names will only continue to be the gossip of the school. He wonders if anybody will even remember their names once the storm blows over. Probably not. After all, Jung Wooyoung was a nobody, and Choi San was a troublemaker.

When Yeosang thinks about it, he never truly knew them. Jung Wooyoung was always just _there, _attached to San's hip, completely average, skin and bones. Choi San was someone who entered Yeosang's life by chance, and Yeosang can't even remember exactly how. He must not have been that important to him.

They were nobodies. They were nobodies, both dead and alive. As tragic as it is, Yeosang has a feeling that their names will be forgotten, buried in time and lost at sea. Nobody cared about them.

Yeosang breathes. He knew them, but he didn't _know _them. However, though he knew very little about them, he knew more about them than anyone else. Those who will forget their names will never know the amount they suffered. They will never understand why they decided to commit such an act. Even if Yeosang screamed it from every single rooftop, spread their story across the world, nobody could ever understand them.

God knows Yeosang never did.

Choi San had always been an enigma. Always a bit of a shadow, who let the tide carry him wherever because he couldn't be bothered to move himself. He was someone who let the universe control him. He could have told somebody. He could have reached out. After he was kicked out, he could have gone somewhere. He could have saved himself from drowning.

But he did no such thing, and now, Yeosang has no choice but to continue to wonder why.

Yeosang is quite certain that there is another truth to Choi San, more than what he knew. After all, San never told him about his life before the event that started it all. For all Yeosang knew, there might be another reason, hidden deep in the grave that will soon hold his body, why he never told a soul, never sought help, and left it up to the universe to seal his fate instead of claiming it as his own. Yeosang never asked, but he remembers then that San didn't even know why his parents kicked him out in the first place.

San died before he got to know why his parents abandoned him like that. He died without closure.

On the other hand, where Yeosang knew very little about Choi San, he knew next to nothing about Jung Wooyoung. All he knew was that he and San were inseparable, best friends since childhood, and remained that way until their worlds crumbled beneath their feet. He knew that Wooyoung hated the way he looked and was willing to put himself through hell to fit the outline that people built around him. He wanted to look like anything besides whatever he saw in the mirror, some sick, twisted version of himself that nobody _except _himself saw.

Yeosang never fully knew their truths. Nobody but themselves did, and now, their truths will be buried alongside their lifeless bodies, left unsaid and unknown.

Two self-destructive souls, hand-in-hand, departed on a journey that they can never return from. Yeosang doesn't, _can't _understand how that could possibly be love. Where they destroyed themselves _and _each other, hands held tightly to ensure the end of their suffering, _together, _because they saw no other way to make the pain stop. It is not romantic. It is a disgrace.

Perhaps they loved each other, or thought they did, because they believed nobody else was capable of doing so. San always said that Wooyoung understood why he smoked, destroyed himself from the inside out. Wooyoung had been doing the same in a much different way. They knew of each other's struggles, and they allowed it to carry on until something completely different finally took them away. Submitting to their own suffering and hopelessness, they sought the end in the only way they knew of, because to them, the pain would not stop so long as their hearts continued to beat.

Yeosang thinks a lot about what Jongho said. He wonders if they are in Hell, if Hell exists. He wonders if their suffering has finally ended. If in Heaven or Hell or wherever they are, they are finally free. If they are still together somewhere, hand-in-hand just like they were when their souls left the Earth. If they are better off, living the lives that they deserved from the very beginning.

Yeosang believes that everyone deserves a fair chance at life, but he also knows that it's an unattainable notion, because as long as the Earth remains rotating, as long as the sun rises and falls, as long as there is _someone _out there with a beating heart, time will not stop, the universe will continue to exist, and those who do not deserve to suffer, will.

But as for Choi San and Jung Wooyoung, they now rest in that ethereal abyss, that gloriously terrifying unknown, where nothing can hurt them anymore, where they can finally be absolved of the world that they should have never been born into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi. athena here. this fic isn't entirely over yet; there are still two more chapters to go. they're going to be much shorter in comparison. but i hope you're okay. i know this fic is a lot. i love you.


	10. begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for panic attacks, references to the previous chapter, mentions of self-harm, vague suicidal thoughts

Yeosang hears Choi San's and Jung Wooyoung's names being spread around like wildfire. Everyone at school, in between classes, whispers their names like they're a complete mystery, strangers, even, and Yeosang can only wonder just how people forget so quickly.

"San, huh? He always came to school smelling like smoke, right?"

"Gross. He always seemed pretty sketchy to me."

"It's sad what happened to them."

"I wish I could have gotten to know them better."

Lies.

Yeosang is sure that if these people got to know them better, nothing would have changed. It makes him sick, knowing that these people are only saying that now that they don't have the chance to know them. As if a missed opportunity is something that goes unnoticed until something like this happens. How fucking sick.

Yeosang loses track of the days. They flash by in the same exact way. Classes, walking, people. Homework, eating, sleeping. Breathing. He tries to. His body feels like it's sinking no matter what he does. It feels like he's drowning, and he's not even trying to swim back up to the surface.

He wonders if that was what it was like for San and Wooyoung.

He's so tired no matter how much he sleeps. Every night, he sleeps a dreamless slumber, and is surprised by the fact that he doesn't have any nightmares. He feels like he should be having them. After all, San and Wooyoung are dead. Shouldn't he be more upset? Shouldn't he be a total wreck? He feels guilty. He should feel worse. San was his friend. San is dead. He should feel sad that his friend is gone forever without a single remnant of anything to remember him by.

Yeosang can't figure out why he's not feeling anything.

The news reaches Yunho. Yeosang is surprised to see the familiar contact name appear on his phone. Frowning, he picks up and answers weakly.

"Yeosang... it's Yunho."

"Yeah, I know."

"I... I'm sorry to hear about what happened. Mingi told me."

"It's okay."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, I think so."

There's a long pause. Nothing.

Then, Yunho sighs. "I'm sorry I haven't really been in contact. Things have been kinda crazy over on my end. I don't know if I'll be returning to school, honestly, since I'm staying with my aunt while my father gets his sentence arranged. I can't really go back to school since I'm not living there, and I probably won't be living there anymore."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Yeosang figures he should be getting used to the silence.

"I'll try my best to visit you and Mingi, though," Yunho says. "It's a bit of a drive, but I'll bug my aunt about borrowing her car when she's in a good mood. She's a lot more reasonable than my father."

Yeosang feels bad when he can't bring himself to laugh along with him.

"Anyways... Yeosang, I hope you know that none of this was your fault. I didn't know San or Wooyoung, but from what Mingi told me, it seemed like they were important to you."

Except they weren't, really. Yeosang barely knew them; how could they be important to him? He should feel much, much worse if they were important to him. Perhaps they weren't. Perhaps they existed in Yeosang's mind the same way they did in everyone else's.

Except no one else knew their pain.

Though Yeosang never knew it to the fullest extent, he at least knew _of _some of the things that eventually drove them to their demise, their wish for freedom, even if he might not understand them, and probably never will.

"It's okay. I didn't really know them that well, if I'm being honest," Yeosang says.

It is honesty. Yeosang didn't know them that well, not as well as the two knew each other. He knew the very shallow end of their hardships. He knew that they were a calamitous pair that should never have come together, yet they did. Other than that, he truly knew nothing else about them.

"Even so, it's not easy hearing about someone you know passing away," Yunho tells him.

"Yeah, I guess."

Yeosang sucks in his bottom lip. He should be wrecked. Why isn't he? Why doesn't he feel sad? It's worrying him. He should feel sad. He needs to cry. Tell Yunho how much pain he's in because San and Wooyoung are dead and everybody is either not giving a shit or pretending like they give a shit when they deserve so much more than that. He needs to tell their story because nobody else will. He needs to let everyone know their pain.

_No, he doesn't._

After all, they went through the most painful experience just to escape it. Yeosang should respect that.

"I might not be available often, but please, if you need anything, don't hesitate to text me. I'll respond when I can," Yunho offers, and Yeosang silently thanks him.

Eventually, the phone call ends when there's nothing and everything left to say.

The house is dark apart from Yeosang's dimly lit desk lamp and his laptop screen. His parents are still in Japan and haven't called since that night, but since he's lost track of the days, he can't remember when exactly that was. He's pretty sure it was sometime last week. Maybe two weeks ago. He hasn't a clue. It seems like his parents keep switching things up on him, though. It could have been two weeks since that phone call and he'd have no clue because things keep "changing" and things keep getting "hectic" and their return home keeps getting delayed.

It's incredibly lonely. Yeosang considers asking Jongho to come over, but he wouldn't be able to provide much entertainment like this. Not when all he can feel are the weightlessness of his bones and the pounding of his heart, reminding him that he's still alive when San and Wooyoung aren't.

Not when his body feels like it's both floating and sinking at the same time.

It's a strange sensation. Yeosang doesn't know if he likes it or not.

-

Yeosang starts to hear rumors about a completely different body over the next few days. A lot of them he hears while he's staring at the empty desk to his left during history class.

"Apparently Park Seonghwa moved to Italy to study abroad!"

"Does he even know Italian?"

"Wait, what? I heard he moved in with a relative in the states!"

"I mean, it's not like it matters. At least we don't have to deal with his pretentious rich-kid ass anymore."

Yeosang inhales. Exhales. Stares back at his own desk to try to block all of those mosquitoes out. He doesn't want to hear anything anymore. It's as if San and Wooyoung's names were ripped right out of the school's gossip circle and replaced with Park Seonghwa's.

And just like with San and Wooyoung, these people know absolutely _none _of Seonghwa's pain. They speak as if they _know _him. Pretentious. Obnoxious. Snobbish. Truth be told, Yeosang thought the same before he noticed the change in the young man's demeanor. It still boggles his mind, how people continued to act like they didn't notice anything different at all. Or maybe they did, and just didn't care. Yeosang thinks that's preposterous, though; anyone with eyes could have seen Seonghwa's sudden shift. Yet they still whisper his name like a curse, call him pretentious, and move along with their days.

If only people knew the real reason why Seonghwa behaved the way he did. He did because he had to, not because he wanted to.

Still, hearing these rumors sparks worry in Yeosang. Moving away so suddenly? What could have possibly happened? Certainly it couldn't have to do with San and Wooyoung. Seonghwa never even knew their names.

Perhaps he knew their pain, though.

And maybe that's why he's moved.

At this point, Yeosang believes the possibilities are endless. As long as he keeps hearing these rumors, he'll have a feeling he'll never truly know what happened to Seonghwa. Mosquitoes aren't exactly the best form of communication.

Just meaningless, annoying gossip.

-

When Yeosang returns home from school one afternoon, he notices that the flag on his mailbox is pointing upwards. Confused, he opens it to find a white envelope inside, sealed with a single piece of tape, with his name written on the front. Without much thought, he tears it open as he walks up to his front door, mindlessly pushing the door open as he pulls out the envelope's contents: a piece of printer paper covered in handwriting he doesn't recognize.

As soon as he reads the first line, however, he stands frozen in place at the front of his house as soon as the door shuts behind him.

_Dear Yeosangie,_

_I’m writing this to you because by now, you probably already know what happened to San and Wooyoung. And because I know you, I want to tell you that it’s not your fault._

_I told you, they were going to destroy each other, and they did. Well, at least they did it together. I mean, it’s hauntingly romantic when you think about it. Holding hands to ensure they can’t break away from each other after they jump? They must have really loved each other to trust that they were going to die together._

_Anyway, I’m writing to you because I’ve decided to move on. I’m leaving, don’t know exactly where yet, but whatever happens, please don’t try to find me. I don’t exist anyway._

_You always told me that I leave when things become too much. While I neither agree nor disagree with you... I understand what you mean. I'm leaving now because there's nothing left for me here. San is dead, and you're better off without me._

_This is where the important part comes in. Seonghwa is coming with me. He told me he would follow me to the edge of the world, so I’m letting him. I don’t know where we’ll end up, but whatever you do, don’t look for us, and don’t tell a soul._

_When I asked Seonghwa what his parents would do if he disappeared, he said they would probably have his existence and identity erased, much like what happened with me. They would probably try to cover up his disappearance, keeping it out of the public eye, maybe even start spreading some rumors that he went to study abroad or something like that. When he told me that, he looked so sad, and understandably so. But, like me, he will learn not to care. He’ll become a shell of the person he used to be. He’ll give up. He’ll abandon himself. But it will all be okay._

_Like I said, I don’t know where we’ll end up. But please know this, Yeosangie, **none **of this is your fault. I know you’re the type of person who blames themselves for others’ troubles. I know you carry what feels like the weight of the world on your back. And trust me, if I believed in God, I would beg for him to make you forget everything that ever made you feel like you were nothing but a shell, because you’re not. You’re not me or Seonghwa. You’re not San or Wooyoung. You have a whole life ahead of you. You need to live. Do what we couldn’t._

_You have your friends. Live for them. They need you. I can’t remember their names for the life of me, but I do remember you telling me about their troubles. They need you, and you need them, though you may not realize it. Don’t make the same mistakes I did. Let people love you, Yeosangie. Let people help._

_I will miss you dearly, Yeosang. You are a unique, unforgettable soul. Wherever my journey takes me, I will never forget you or the times we spent together. You were one of the few people who made me remember that there is hope for those who want it. However, you can’t save everybody. And no matter what, it isn’t, and never will be your fault. Some people are just too far gone. You are not._

_It’s okay if you forget about me. It might be better if you did, though I doubt you will. What I do hope is that you learn to carry on. Live. Love. Let yourself do those things. Conquer the tragedy and find hope._

_I wish you the best of luck, my dearest Yeosang. Farewell._

_-Hongjoong_

Yeosang's old friends return to his face. They smudge the ink. They bring Yeosang to his knees. They cause him to cry out into his empty house, those godforsaken walls, and dig his nails into the wooden flooring. They hurt. Everything hurts.

His skin is on fire. The lines on his ribs and hips and thighs beg to be revisited. He needs to move. He needs to get up, go somewhere. But he's so _tired, _so fucking _sad, _and there's no one there to help him.

Live for his friends? How can he? This isn't living. Crying on the floor not even three steps into his own house isn't living. There's nobody. Nobody.

"Yeosang-ah! It's so nice to—wait, sweetie, are you crying? What's wrong?"

"They're all gone, eomma."

"What? Who's gone? Sangie, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"They're all dead. I-I don't know what to do. I'm s-scared."

"Sangie, sweetie, please, tell me what's wrong. Your father and I are worried."

"S-San. Wooyoung. They killed themselves last week. Or the week before. I don't know anymore. I'm... I'm so tired, eomma."

"Wh-What do you me—"

_There's nobody._

-

Yeosang's parents find him collapsed right at the front of the house, on the floor, curled in on himself like a helpless child. The door swings into him, knocking into his side, but he's too tired, too numb to react. His eyes are open and he's breathing. He just doesn't feel like he's alive.

When the light switches on, he cringes slightly at the change in his vision. "Oh my god, Sang-ah!" There's a pair of arms around him immediately, hauling his limp body up into their embrace, a hand coming up to stroke his hair. "What happened to you? What's going on?"

It's his mother.

He starts to cry again. His eyes rejuvenate with tears, stinging and throbbing as he wails in his mothers arms. "What did you do to your hair?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "They're dead, eomma. They're dead, a-and I couldn't do anything to stop them."

"Son, you're not making any sense," his father said, crouching down to meet his son's height. "Who are you talking about? Please, tell us what happened."

"San and Wooyoung. They were... my friends. And they killed themselves while you two w-were gone and I-I didn't know what to do. It was s-so lonely and I—" He's cut off as another violent sob strangles his body, stealing his breath and making him cough. "You didn't... you didn't come back when you said you would."

His mother holds him tightly in a way that Yeosang doesn't ever think he's felt before. He can't even remember his mother holding like this in the past, but then again, he doesn't ever think he's felt this helpless before. "I'm so sorry, Sangie," his mother whispers, her own voice breaking. "Please, tell us what happened so we can help you."

There's another hand on his back, rubbing it comfortingly. It must be his father.

Yeosang tells them, though he doesn't tell them everything. He tells them about Mingi first, how he'd befriended a nice, tall, socially-awkward boy in his gym class and then saved him from killing himself. He tells them about Yunho, the school's most well-known athlete and how his father beat him to the point of black eyes and broken ribs. He tells them about San and Wooyoung, classmates that he didn't know that well, who are now dead and gone, and he sobs again when he says their names.

He's honest with them, but not once does he mention Hongjoong. He doesn't show them the letter that he's crumpled up and shoved into his pocket. He doesn't tell them that Hongjoong dyed his hair or took his virginity or housed San up until the breaking point. He lies about that, telling them that he'd dyed his own hair because he figured maybe it was time for a change.

To his surprise, his parents don't get angry with him. They are silent as Yeosang finally spills his sorrows to the people who have been missing from his life in more ways than one, but at the end, he tells them:

"I... I was upset when you didn't come home when you said you would. But I'm also grateful... that you never treated me the way San or Mingi or Yunho's parents did."

His mother sighs above him, holding him tighter, closer. "Oh, sweetheart. We would never, ever treat you like that. I'm so sorry that all of this happened, my love."

"If we'd known all of this was happening, we would have come home sooner," his father says earnestly. "After you called us, we got the first flight straight back here. We were so worried about you, son. I'm... I'm just glad you're safe."

"I'm s-sorry about my hair," Yeosang mumbles. "I can dye it back to black."

"It's okay, love. You can do whatever you decide to do with it. If you want to keep it, then keep it, and if you want to dye it back, then dye it back. That's not what matters right now, honey. What matters is that you're okay and we're here now." His mother continues to hold him, gently rocking him back and forth in a way that is so familiar, yet so distant in Yeosang's memory.

He's grateful. His parents have returned, which he is so, so grateful for. He is past the hurt that came with them not coming back when they said they would, but it has transformed into a hurt that is more of a guilt, _wishing _that San and Wooyoung were still alive and had parents like his.

He's grateful. He is.

He shouldn't feel guilty. He is.

-

Yeosang loses track of the days again, because when he goes to school one day, Mingi is there. He sits with Yeosang at lunch and neatly unpacks his meal. He greets Yeosang with a smile, which Yeosang reciprocates.

"How are you, Yeosang?" Mingi asks.

Yeosang shrugs. "I'm doing fine, I guess."

"Are you really?"

"I think. I mean, I don't know what day it is, but I'm still doing well in all my classes and I haven't really felt sad in a while. So I guess I'm doing okay."

Mingi nods subtly. "Yeosang, I hope you know that you don't have to go through this alone. Things... things have changed a lot, I know. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm still going to be there for you, just like you were for me."

"I... I know," Yeosang replies, swallowing. "I know I should be more open about my feelings."

"Emotions are hard," Mingi says. "When I was in the hospital, I had a lot of time to think about things and I realized a lot of stuff. Before I got discharged, I told the social worker there about what happened with you, and she told me that the best I could do was be there for you. I know I can't take away your pain or fix you or anything like that. I hope you know that about me, too."

Yeosang nods in acknowledgement. "I know it's going to be a hard thing to do. After all, it's hard _not _to hurt when a friend is hurting. But all we can really do is our best, and the best I can do is be there for you whenever you need someone," Mingi says.

"Thank you, Mingi," Yeosang says quietly, clearing his throat. "I appreciate it a lot."

"It may take you a while to open up. You may never open up. But no matter what, I'm going to be there for you. Yunho, too. When he comes to visit, he said we all need to hang out together," Mingi says with a wide smile.

Seeing Mingi smile like that makes Yeosang smile as well. He can't remember the last time he saw Mingi show his full, unabridged smile in all of its crooked glory. It reminds him of Yunho's almost. It's radiant, and shines even brighter than the sun. Yeosang smiles and bows his head, letting out a low chuckle. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Things are going to be okay, Yeosang," Mingi says. "You just have to let them."

Yeosang nods. Breathes. He looks at Mingi, whose smile holds ten times more happiness than it used to. He yearns for the day where he can smile like that too.

During P.E., Mingi smiles as they pass a birdie between each other. When Mingi falls, he laughs it off. He wears a long sleeve shirt now, but that doesn't matter. Not now. Not when he's beaming, glowing, the happiest Yeosang has ever seen him. It's blinding, almost. All he can see is Mingi's happiness. His hope. He doesn't even know if their classmates look at him weirdly or whisper among themselves. They leave the locker room together before anybody gets the chance to say anything.

Mingi is picked up by a van that's associated with the group home he's now residing at, but he makes sure to wave goodbye to Yeosang before he leaves. He tells Yeosang that he'll still have his phone and gives Yeosang his number. He tells Yeosang to text him whenever, though he's not entirely sure when he'll be able to respond. Yeosang nods. Waving goodbye and watching Mingi take off like that feels like watching his child leave for their first day of school. It's a strange experience.

As Yeosang is walking home, he hears a familiar voice calling his name.

"Hyung! Wait up!"

Yeosang chuckles as he slows his steps until his best friend appears by his side, panting. "How do you always leave before me?"

"I don't know what you get up to after school," Yeosang replies. "I just finish my class and leave."

Jongho pouts. "Well, wait for me every now and again!"

Yeosang laughs again, motioning his head for Jongho to follow him as they make their journey back home. A familiar awkward tension hangs in the air between them. Yeosang doesn't like it. He should know better by now. _Don't let the truth go left unsaid anymore._

"Hyung, it's been a little while since we've talked." Jongho is the first to cut the silence. "I didn't want to... I mean, I guess I just wanted to give you space to, you know."

"I understand," Yeosang says. "It's okay, Jongho. I've been okay. Things were rough in the beginning, but... it's not awful. My parents are back. Mingi is, too. I've been feeling okay, eating well and sleeping better than I used to."

"That's good to hear, hyung," Jongho says with a relieved smile. "Please, don't hide anything from me anymore, okay? I mean, if you don't want to talk about something, then yeah, that's fine. But... don't feel like you _have _to keep stuff from me, you know? I want to know what's on your mind and I want to help."

_Let people love you. Let people help._

"Thank you, Jongho," Yeosang says. "You know, it's been a while since we've properly hung out. I'm sure my parents would love to see you again."

Jongho's face seems to light up. "Wait, really? I mean, I have some homework to do but if you wanna just do it together, that would be cool!"

Yeosang realizes then how much he loves seeing smiles. Jongho's smile is so big yet so tiny, almost like him. To think, behind such an innocent smile holds more strength, both physical and mental, that Yeosang will never have, but admires all the same.

His parents aren't home from work yet, but he sends them a quick text telling them that Jongho will be over to do homework, and will most likely stay for dinner. His mother replies enthusiastically, saying that she looks forward to seeing Jongho again.

Jongho completes his homework in under an hour thanks to Yeosang's help. Yeosang is technically already finished with his, and now, there's a completely different distraction in his room, a much healthier one who can actually make him smile and remember that there are people who want to help. Who love and care about him.

_You have your friends. Live for them._

When his parents get home, they all sit down and eat dinner together. Jongho makes small talk with them, catching up on the smallest things. Yeosang listens with a tiny smile on his face. They smile. They laugh. They're together.

When Jongho leaves, he gives Yeosang the tightest hug. It hurts a little, and Yeosang lets Jongho know by letting out a small, pained grunt. Jongho laughs and apologizes for his unintentional strength, but Yeosang just laughs too, thankful that it's not the pain against his ribs that he's so used to. The lines don't hurt anymore.

When Yeosang returns to his room, he plops onto his bed, smiling as he notices a few texts from Yunho. They text back and forth for an hour before Yeosang tucks himself into bed. Yunho tells him about the homeschooling and updates him on a few things. His father is still sitting in jail, but the outcome is looking up. If things go as Yunho hopes, he will never have to see his father again.

When Yeosang's eyes finally slip shut, he's met with a peaceful sleep, one that isn't filled with nightmares or terrible memories or images of a catastrophic future. It's filled with nothing but blackness and breathing.

Yeosang will take it.

-

Someone Yeosang used to know told him to live for his friends.

Yeosang finds himself doing just that. Eventually, Mingi and Jongho meet. Their smiles together are twice as blinding, and before Yeosang knows it, he finds himself smiling just as much as they do. He smiles when they do. Seeing them happy makes him feel... well, he thinks he feels happy.

After living so much pain, he feels like he deserves to feel _some _happiness now and then.

Things are difficult. Yeosang continues to breathe.

There's one night where Yeosang fumbles with the piece of paper still tucked away in his coat pocket, crinkled and ignored but not forgotten. Someone Yeosang used to know gave it to him, though Yeosang doesn't entirely know why they did. Did they see it as a parting gift? Some sort of closure? Whatever the case, Yeosang doesn't really think much of it anymore.

That person never wanted to exist, anyway.

As much as they didn't want to exist, however, there's no way Yeosang can forget them. Perhaps it's best if Yeosang does, but the both of them knew better. Yeosang won't forget them.

He has a feeling that they secretly wanted to be remembered. There was no way they'd act in such a pompous way and _not _want to be remembered. However, Yeosang soon perishes the thought, because this person was who they were with no bounds. They were unabashedly themselves. Free. They were who they were not because they wanted to be remembered. They just lived the way they wanted to, or _had to, _but either way, they were _free._

And now, Yeosang is the only person who can remember them.

As he watches the inferno destroy the last of their legacy, he engraves those words into his memory, where their secrets will lie until the day he dies.

They deserved so much more than what they received. Part of Yeosang wishes he could go back to the day he last saw them, tell them that they were more important than they thought they were. In fact, some of him wishes he could _apologize, _because all they wanted was to erase the pain as much as he did. Traumatized by their own pain, they still sought to heal the pain of others, whether they realized it or not.

Yeosang hopes they're okay. He hopes that wherever they are, they are alive. That they will continue to try until they draw their last breath. That's all they can really do, after all.

_I promise I'm not going to forget you, Hongjoong. Not in a million years._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter contains a lot of hope. please know that there is hope. i love you.
> 
> i will give a fair warning and say that the next part is the final epilogue and it's going to be left quite open. how you interpret it is up to you.


	11. again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun rises again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, here we are. the end. i'm going to warn you, this ending is pretty open and you can take it as you please.

There are plenty of moments like this, where he gazes out into the open water and wonders what it's like to be free.

He wonders if they felt free when they jumped together. Did they have a moment where they realized, "this is it," and finally felt like their sorrows had vanished? Or did they feel regret, like they wished they hadn't jumped?

He wonders if it hurt when they hit the water. If they really did try to swim back up to the surface or if they let the waves devour their bodies like they had intended. He glances down; surely it must have hurt, but it wouldn't have killed right away.

Wherever they are, he hopes they're free.

His old friend, he hopes they're free as well. He wonders if they are still involved with his old classmate. Probably. The two had left together, and probably intended to stay together. He hopes that they're still trying. He hopes that they're at least getting by.

His friends reach out to him often. He feels grateful to have them in his life. They ask him how he's doing. He usually replies with "I'm okay" or "I'm fine."

There are some days where he wonders how truthful he's being. If he's saying that he's okay because he means it or because he doesn't want to be honest.

There are some days where he doesn't feel okay. Where he can still feel the lines sizzling on his body or the fire burning in the back of his brain with words that he swore he wouldn't forget. He doesn't want to forget. He doesn't.

But there are some days where he thinks that it might be best if he did.

He doesn't entirely know. What he knows is the stuff he reads in his textbooks. He knows that the sun rises and sets. He knows that the Earth turns on its axis and revolves around the sun. He knows there are infinite possibilities out there as long as the universe exists. He knows that the future is unknown.

There are some days where he doesn't even know his own pain.

He doesn't know if he's feeling it or not. He doesn't even know if it's still _there. _Sometimes, he will clench his fists just to remind himself that he can still _physically _feel pain. At least that part of him is functioning correctly. He can't say the same about everything else, though.

He eats. He sleeps. He breathes. His parents hug him more often and tell him that they love him. He's grateful for them. He's grateful for his friends.

It's much warmer now. His best friend loves watching sunrises. He always knew that this spot would be an amazing place to watch sunrises, but he never took his best friend here. Not since that day. He's sure his best friend would love this view, though. It's beautiful.

The colors paint the sky in such brilliant ways. It reminds him a lot of everyone.

He's trying.

He breathes as he gazes out at the dazzling landscape, the ethereal horizon, his feet walking on nothing, his hands clenched. He craves freedom.

He figures, in this moment, this is as close as he is going to get, but it's okay.

He'll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> please feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments! i may not respond to comments often, but i do read every single one, and i'd love to hear what you all thought of this rollercoaster of a fic.
> 
> i want to say thank you to the author of the fic 'light of my life,' which inspried this one. i don't know where they went, as i've tried to find their social media but it seems they've deactivated. but wherever they are, i hope they are doing well, and i want to thank them for writing a piece that completely devastated me in the best and worst ways.
> 
> you can find me here:  
[twitter](https://twitter.com/cosmicwoosan)  
[cc](https://curiouscat.me/cosmicwoosan)
> 
> i love you <3


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